


Roman Holiday: Love and Possibilities

by WrathoftheStag



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Brief drug use, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minor Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Roman Holiday, Roman Holiday AU, Royalty AU, Slice of Life, based on the audrey hepburn and gregory peck film, family duties, implied Holsom, jack is a reporter, omgcp bb 2019, prince!eric, shitty is a photographer, zimbits - Freeform, zimbits au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21512713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrathoftheStag/pseuds/WrathoftheStag
Summary: Prince Eric of Georgiana just wants to live his own life. While in Rome, he escapes palace life and meets reporter Jack Zimmermann.  Jack shows Eric what life could be like, if only for a day.  A Zimbits AU inspired by the 1953 movieRoman Holiday.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 112
Kudos: 152
Collections: OMGCP Big Bang 2019





	1. Aware of My Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Isaac for his beautiful artwork and a great partnership for this Big Bang. It was a pleasure collaborating with you. Be sure to visit his Tumblr to see more of his work: [Isaac Does Art](https://isaacdoesart.tumblr.com).
> 
> The chapter titles are all quotes from the actual movie. If you haven’t seen [the movie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GzCG6lpFUw), you totally should. It’s very sweet. 
> 
> Also, the tiny kingdom of Georgiana is so small, you might even miss it on the map. According to historian John Johnson, it’s known for its coffee, its apple tartlet, and the fact that the country’s accent is astonishingly similar to a U.S. Southern accent. Hmm. Convenient!
> 
> And yes, they are using still lire here as currency in addition to the euro, because I have a soft spot for the Maria Montessori ones.

_The Georgianian royal goodwill tour of European capitals continues as Prince Eric descended upon the eternal city, Rome, this week. Included in the Prince’s schedule is a tour of Parliament, a visit to the Medici Children’s Hospital, and of course, the Vatican Museum. To follow the young Prince’s complete tour schedule, click this link…_

Eric sighed as he looked outside the tinted car window. Rows and rows of umbrella pines waved as the Italian landscape zoomed by and the people of the world went about their day enmeshed in their quotidian lives, doing as they pleased. How absolutely decadent it seemed, all of the splendidly mundane choices to be had. To choose whether to wear one’s hair long or short that day; if they’d have tea and toast or just a coffee and cigarettes for breakfast. What bliss.

“We should be arriving in Rome in about 45 minutes, Your Highness,” William, the head of Royal Communications, said as he scrolled through his phone to confirm Eric’s schedule.

“Do you think we might have time to visit the Trevi Fountain?” 

Eric had watched _La Dolce Vita_ more times than he cared to admit, and all he wanted was to be able to perhaps get a glimpse of the fountain. Just a glimpse.

“Not on the schedule, I’m afraid,” William replied without looking up from his phone. “Oh, before I forget.”

He handed over a manila folder.

“Here are the names and bios of the members of Parliament you’ll be meeting tomorrow, so be sure to brush up on who is who. You have to know everything on each of these sheets. We don’t want another Barcelona incident.” William chuckled to himself as he shook his head.

“Thank you, William,” Eric said as he placed the folder on his lap and continued to look out the window. 

“Your Highness, I’m afraid I wasn’t joking. Chop-chop. Please study the names. King’s orders,” William said then dove back into his phone.

Eric opened the folder and sighed.

“What’s the word, Zimmermann?”

“Bird,” Jack replied as he made his way through the Associated Press’ Rome office. He took a biscotto off the plate of his coworker, Larissa, and grinned. “Bird is the word, Han shot first, and time is money. Anything else?”

“That about covers it, except for the fact that you’re name dropping Han Solo,” Larissa said with a smirk. “I’m impressed.”

“Okay, fine! Shitty was talking about Han Solo with someone.” Jack shrugged. “I really don’t know what that’s about. It just sounded like a cool thing to say.”

“Oh, Jack!” Larissa laughed as she shook her head and offered up her cappuccino. “By the by, Murray is looking for you, dude.”

“I do not have time for him today.” Jack took a quick sip. “Okay, I’m leaving. You didn’t see me, _capisce_?”

“Didn’t see who?” Larissa said nonchalantly as they both heard Murray’s voice behind them.

“Zimmermann! Just the person I was looking for. Get in here.”

“Shit,” Jack muttered. 

Larissa shrugged in sympathy and took her mug back. 

“Coming, Cap,” Jack said.

“Close the door, have a seat,” Murray said.

“What’s up?” Jack asked and settled into the chair in front of Murray’s desk.

Jack had arrived to work for the AP three years ago. Graduating in journalism at the top of his class from Stanford, then a masters from American University was good and all, but when you’re the son of Pulitzer Prize-winning Bad Bob Zimmermann, the hotshot journalist who cracked the Hoffa case wide open, you had some very big shoes to fill and high expectations placed on your broad shoulders. 

Although Bob had never said anything in so many words, it was expected that Jack would follow in his footsteps. When the opportunity to work for the AP arose, Jack quickly jumped on the chance. His best friend from college, Knight, a photojournalist, soon joined him on his Italian adventure at the Roman bureau.

“How’s that Lorenza story coming along?” Murray asked.

“Good. Almost done.”

“Really? Then why is it that I’m already reading about it on _The Daily Beast_? _The Daily Beast_ for chrissake!”

Jack sucked on his teeth. “Unethical reporting?” he offered.

“Jesus, Zimmermann. If the Beast is scooping us, then we’re doing a shit poor job. Journalism, with a capital J, is dying and we’re a--”

“Dying breed, right. I know. I know,” Jack said repeating Murray’s tried and true refrain.

“So rather than being a violinist on the Titanic, be a damn lifeboat.”

“That’s, euh, quite a metaphor there, Cap.”

“Damn straight,” Murray said with a nod. “Oh and hey, you’re covering the Prince Eric thing tomorrow at the museum.”

“Now, hold on,” Jack sputtered. “One second you’re telling me to go out and save journalism and the next you’re giving me a puff piece? Make up your mind, Cap.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a puff piece, Zimmermann.”

Jack gave him an arch look.

“Puff pieces pay the bills,” Murray said. “And take Knight with you.”

“Why can’t Duan do it? She’s the A and E person.”

“Because she and Nurse are covering a book thing with Francesca Melandri.” Murray smiled warmly. “That Prince Eric… there’s something about him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those royal groupies, Murray,” Jack said with disdain.

“What? No, I mean he’s too perfect—too sweet or something, with his cherubic curls and earnest face. It’d be great if we could get an actual interview where he lets his guard down and tells us something real. Something good.”

Jack shrugged. He had no interest at all in covering any royalty. As far as he was concerned, they were all vapid, over-privileged, self-involved people. 

“Yeah… well. Good luck. That would be quite the coup.”

“Damn straight, so keep your eyes open, Zimmermann. You never know where the next story is coming from.”

Jack internally rolled his eyes and sulked out of Murray’s office. There was no way in hell that Prince Eric would provide any sort of interesting, life-changing anything. None.

Eric discreetly craned his neck as he tried to catch a peek to figure out how long the Parliament line was exactly. The embassy ballroom was enormous, so there was no telling how far it went.

“Signor Umberto D'ottavio, may I present His Royal Highness, Prince Eric of Georgiana.”

“Good evening,” Eric replied as he extended his hand. “How do you do?" 

“Signora Roberta Agostini, may I present His Royal Highness, Prince Eric of Georgiana.”

“ _Piacere di conoscerla_. How do you do?”

A yawn threatened to escape his mouth as William, the Countess Alice Atley, and General Hall shot Eric such a look, he immediately swallowed it down.

After ten more repetitions of “How do you do?” Eric was just about ready to scream. 

All he wanted to do was get in bed and check his Twitter (which he had under an assumed name, of course. If William or his parents knew of his Twitter, there would be hell to pay). 

Every day it was the same thing, every evening over and over again. How do you do, how do you do, how do you do? Frankly, he didn’t care how most of these people did and Eric knew the feeling was mutual. His presence was merely something to be dealt with; a minor inconvenience for good relations; an indulgence and a curiosity. No one cared who he was, how he did or what felt about anything.

“How do you do?” Eric said, an overly tight smile plastered on his face.

**+**

“How did it go today?”

Eric sat at the edge of his bed, mentally and physically drained.

“Fine. I met what seemed like almost every member of Parliament,” he said with a sigh as he put his phone on speaker and plopped it onto the bed.

“Well, the day’s over now, dear, so you can go to bed and focus on tomorrow,” his mother, the Queen said. “And then you’ll be home soon.”

Eric reclined on the bed and exhaled.

“Home… that would be nice.”

“Your granny misses you,” Suzanne said.

Eric smiled. His grandmother was the one person who always supported him. He felt that she was always truly in his corner. When it came time to go to uni, his parents wanted him to attend Oxford (with a full set of bodyguards, of course) and it was Eric’s grandmother who had convinced them that the Sorbonne would be perfect, and two bodyguards would be plenty.

It was a good four years with some sort of normalcy, even though a dorm room was absolutely out of the question, and he was the only student in class with two enormous bodyguards. It made for rather awkward study sessions and coffee breaks. (He occasionally kept in touch with his bodyguards, Birkholtz and Oluransi, who had moved on to work with the Canadian Prime Minister.)

He heard his father’s voice in the background.

“Is that Eric?”

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose as his father took the phone.

“Yes. Hello, sir.”

“How did it go tonight?”

“Good. Fine. It was uneventful.”

“Well, it’s important we have the Italian government on our side. If that merger doesn’t go through--”

“Father, it was fine. I spoke with Signore Rufallo, and he assured me that a meeting with Mattarella was in the works.”

“I should have come,” the King said.

“But I just told you--” 

“No, I should have listened to Hall and come to Italy. At least for this meeting,” the King said with agitation.

“If you have no faith in my abilities, then perhaps, yes, you should have come,” Eric said before he realized what he did.

Eric winced as he could practically hear the King seethe.

His father, while a skilled politician and ruler (he was fair and wise, and Eric knew the people of Georgiana adored him), he was not always the most reasonable or diplomatic when it came to his son. Eric felt he could never live up to the expectations put upon him—he was too soft-spoken, too kind-hearted, too _Eric_. (Forgive him for not taking to rugby, a Man’s Sport!) And it was tiring to always be doubted so. Eric knew what he was capable of if only his father put more trust in him… in his potential.

“I’ll pass you to your mother. Goodnight, Eric.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight.”

Eric exhaled softly as he prepared for the barrage of kind questioning his mother was surely about to give him.

Later that evening as Eric was getting ready for bed, he heard some soft music coming from just outside the Embassy grounds. He eased his way to the window and peeked out. Some sort of art gathering was taking place on the piazza beyond the gates. Canvases were propped along a fence; street musicians played as couples danced around a fountain. One couple, in particular, began to kiss. Eric watched… from behind the curtains. 

He watched with great curiosity. How wonderful to be able to express oneself so freely; to love so openly. To love whomever one chose. He placed his hand over his heart and sighed. The knock on Eric’s bedroom door pulled him out of his head.

“Enter.”

William came in carrying a tray with milk and biscuits, followed by Atley and Hall.

“You should be in bed, Your Highness,” Alice said.

“Then why is William here with a tray?”

“It’s time for your milk and biscuits, isn’t it?” she added.

Eric looked at the plate of shortbread and digestives and shook his head.

“I’m fine without, thank you very much.”

“But then how will you sleep?” Alice asked.

“Apparently, one just gets into bed, closes their eyes and it sort of happens.”

Alice frowned.

“Countess,” Eric continued, “I appreciate the gesture but I’m no longer the ten-year-old child who will be appeased with a warm glass of milk and biscuits.”

“But--”

“I said no thank you,” Eric replied rather forcefully.

William, Alice, and Hall exchanged worried looks.

“Are you feeling all right, Your Highness?” Hall asked.

“How about I just put this down so you can have it later?” William said.

“How about you all just leave? Please.” 

Eric began to pace back and forth as he felt a level of irrational anger grow in him he had not experienced before.

“Would the world capsize if I didn’t have milk and biscuits before bed? Doubtful! Am I a grown man capable of putting myself to bed? Absolutely!”

He picked up the plate of biscuits and flung it across the room.

“So why don’t you all just leave! Me! Alone!”

Eric threw himself on his bed, and fought against the urge to cry. He had basically thrown a tantrum about being a grown man and now there he was crying on his bed about it.

“Why don’t you two leave us, please?” Alice said to William and Hall.

They nodded and left.

Eric cried into his pillow, embarrassed by his behavior. He felt Alice sit on the edge of his bed and after a few minutes, turned to look at her.

“I know that all this,” she said gesturing around her, “can be overwhelming at times. Trust that I understand, Your Highness.”

He sat up and looked at her.

“What do you do about it?” Eric asked as he wiped his face.

“I remind myself that duty comes first. Duty is paramount. And if that means I need some occasional help, so be it.”

“Occasional help?” he asked as he furrowed his brow.

Atley reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial.

“Valium. A pill every now and then, and I’m out like a light, ready to face the next day. Duty.”

Eric looked at the pill. He grabbed a glass of water on his nightstand and swallowed down the Valium.

“There, there, Your Highness,” Alice said as she patted his hand. “There, there…”


	2. Is This the Elevator?

“Another night in _paradiso_ , brah,” Knight said as he counted his winnings from their weekly poker game.

Every Friday night, Jack and Knight would play against other AP reporters. The two made their way down _Via del Corso_ as the night air gave off a cool breeze and Jack felt his skin vibrating with something. Excitement? Possibility, perhaps? Whatever it was, he felt good. Happy.

“Just how much did you clear? Poor Nurse, didn’t know what hit him.”

“Enough to keep me in plenty of pasta for the week,” Knight said as he shot Jack some finger guns. “Maybe I’ll finally ask Duan out to dinner? She’s a total cutie patootie.”

“Duan? Ha! Good luck.”

Larissa Duan had just returned from a year-long stint reporting in Nairobi and Knight had been pining over her for weeks. Jack thought it was nice seeing him so flustered and gushing. Still, the concept seemed foreign to Jack.

“I’m pretty sure she sees right through you, man,” Jack said as he clapped Knight on the back.

“A man can dream, Jackabelle. A man can dream…” Knight replied with a smile. “Speaking of dreaming, anyone out there keeping you up at night? Deets, my man, deets!”

“No. There aren’t any deets to share but if I did have some, I’d definitely keep them to myself.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Knight said as he playfully shoved Jack. “I just meant if anyone has caught your eye. You’ve been single long enough, Jack-o-lantern. You’re basically married to your job and, I say this with love, brah, there has to be more to your life. You gotta start dreaming about love!”

Jack frowned. Knight was being quite diplomatic by saying “long enough” as Jack couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone on a date. It might have been pre-Italy. Dating was a distraction he didn’t have time for. Apart from that, there wasn’t anyone that had caught his eye. Anyone he met, whether man or woman, seemed superficial to Jack. No substance. No life experience. He couldn’t relate to most people. His career was plenty to have on his plate at the moment, and that was more than enough.

“Earth to Jack!” Knight called out. “Earth to Jaaaack!”

“What?” Jack said as he snapped back to attention. 

“So she said she might text me tomorrow to, and I quote, ‘hang out.’” Knight said with a mile-wide grin.

“Hope it works out for you, Knight.”

“That’s what I love about you, Jack. Your overly romantic nature.”

Jack laughed.

“Okay,” Knight said as they reached the corner. “This is where I leave you, my liege. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, man.” 

Knight waved and made a left as Jack walked right. Jack’s stroll home was uneventful (he went over deadlines in his head and potential leads) until he paused and noticed a small figure sitting on a bench leaning sloppily against the neighboring light post. Jack smiled and felt sorry for them imagining the morning they were most certainly going to have.

“Speaking of dreams,” Jack said as he chuckled.

The guy groaned and stretched himself across the bench.

“Hey, man,” Jack said as he poked the guy’s foot with his shoe. “How's it going?” 

“Mmm-hmm...." the guy responded as waved an arm and began to roll off the bench. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jack bent down and sat him upright. “Hey, wake up!” 

“Thank you very much. How do you do? Delighted…” He offered his hand to Jack who grinned.

"Euh, yeah. Delighted, too."

“You may sit down,” the guy said as he gave Jack an elaborate flourish.

“How kind of you,” Jack deadpanned. “What are you doing here, man? You a lost tourist or something?”

“Tourist? Mmm… you could say that.” 

“Well you’re certainly not local, not with that accent.”

“Pot meet kettle,” the guy said.

“Fair enough,” Jack said with a smile. “What's your name? Do you need help?” 

“You may call me… uh… Richard,” the guy said with a goofy haughtiness.

Jack wasn’t sure exactly why he sat down, but this guy was making him laugh.

“You must have had some night,” Jack said with a chuckle.

“You don’t know the half of it. The Italian Parliament has a lot of members! Do you know how many hands I had to shake?”

Jack smirked. “Right, yes. A ton I imagine.”

“And then,” the guy continued, “when everyone was asleep, I got dressed and shimmied out the window… when everyone was asleep. So funny! They were asleep, and I was not. So impulsive! No milk and biscuits for me!”

Jack chuckled again as he gave him a once over. “I mean, of course.” 

The guy stood up, cleared his throat and said, “I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of the imagination!”

Jack’s eyebrows flew up. “Keats, eh? Well-dressed and well-educated. Listen, Richard, you better make your way back home, bud. You look too clean-cut to get picked up by _la polizia_." 

“Polizia?” Richard asked, a crinkle in his brow appeared. Jack found himself suddenly wanting to smooth it out.

“Yeah, the police,” he said as he resisted the temptation. 

Richard brushed his curls off his forehead and exhaled sloppily. “Would you be so kind as to call for my car?” 

Jack smirked again. “Oh, of course.” He pretended to pull out a phone from his pocket. “Beep boop, beep boop. Hello, Jeeves? Please come and pick up your worship here.” 

“Don't mock me,” Richard slurred.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, your worship,” Jack chirped gently. “How about I get you a cab, and you get yourself home.”

“Indeed,” Richard replied.

Jack walked over to the curb and began hailing the passing cabs.

“You’re really good at that,” Richard called out from the bench.

“I’m glad someone finally noticed,” Jack said flatly as he waved a taxi over.

“Oh… it’s white,” Richard pouted. “I wanted a yellow one.” He plopped his cheek on his hand and slumped forward.

“All right, I'll help you get in; come on,” Jack said and led Richard to the car who crawled in and rested his face against the window.

“ _Dove stiamo andando_?” the cab driver asked.

Jack poked his head in. “Where do you live?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Richard said then fluttered his eyes shut. “The Colosseum.” 

Jack barked out a short laugh. 

“Okay, now I know you can’t be that drunk.” He scooted inside, and poked Richard in the arm. “Where to?”

“The joke’s on you because I'm not drunk at all.” Richard turned toward Jack and placed his head on Jack’s shoulder. “I'm just verrrrry haaaappy I escaped…” 

Jack smiled at Richard, and for a moment his drunken happiness was infectious, but then Jack caught himself getting wrapped into whatever _that_ was, and instantly put the kibosh. Or so he thought.

“Address, bud. I need an address…”

The cab driver, appearing annoyed finally spoke in English. “Where we going?”

Richard smiled again and waved at Jack, and Jack couldn’t help but chuckle again.

“Okay, fine! _Crisse_ , fine. Take us to Villa Marguta, fifty-one. Let’s get some coffee in you and have you go on your way.”

“ _Villa Marguta, cinquantuno_ ,” the cab driver repeated. 

“Yes, _Villa Marguta cinquantuno_ ,” Jack confirmed as he gently moved Richard off his shoulder. “Okay, Richard. Personal space, here.”

Richard groused and placed his head firmly back on Jack’s shoulder. Jack could smell his shampoo and, quite frankly, felt almost dizzy about it. Dizzy in the best possible way.

“I’m not in the habit of picking up strays, you know,” Jack huffed as he resigned himself to having Richard’s head on his shoulder. “One cup of coffee, and you’re gone. Got it?” 

What was he doing?

“Stray?” Richard said with a pout, “I’m not a dog.”

“Coffee and that’s it,” Jack said again, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Richard. 

“ _Espresso, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, caffè latte_ …” Richard began to mumble.

“Whatever floats your boat, bud.”

“Coffee’s the world’s second largest traded commodity.”

Jack smirked. “Is that right?” 

He nodded clumsily and added, “It’s worth over $100 billion worldwide. And people love ours.”

“Well, aren’t you a fount of knowledge?”

“Times New Roman. I really like that font,” Richard said with a sloppy grin.

Jack laughed. “Okay, bud. Okay.”

"Papyrus, though? That font is terrible.”

Jack smiled. The guy was quirky—charming.

When they finally pulled up in front of Villa Marguta, fifty-one, Richard was comfortably dozing and Jack wasn’t sure how to wake him. He paid the driver, then shook Richard.

“Your coffee awaits, your worship.”

Richard's head popped up.

“Excellent. Please…” he muttered, “show me the way.”

He pushed Jack to the side and climbed over him to exit the cab, kicking Jack’s knee in the process.

“ _Buona notte_ ,” Jack grunted as he got out and rubbed his knee.

Richard stood there, swaying slightly and yet somehow still managed to appear rather graceful. He followed Jack through the courtyard and up the stairs to his studio. Quite frankly, Jack was amazed he hadn't tripped on the way up.

“Come in,” Jack said as he opened the door and turned on the light.

“Is this the elevator?”

“Hey, now,” Jack frowned. “It might be small but it's _casa_.”

Richard looked around and sleepily rubbed his eyes. “It's charming.”

“That's the bathroom through that door, the couch is the living room, and here's the kitchenette, and that’s the end of our tour. Speaking of the bathroom, I'm going to go and then we'll get that coffee started for you. I’m sure you probably have somewhere to be.”

Richard gave him a small bow.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jack said as he made his way to the bathroom, “but not too comfortable.”

Once inside, Jack washed his hands and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“What are you doing, man?” he asked himself. “Why’d you bring this guy to your house? Don't let yourself get bamboozled by some cutie.”

Cutie? Jack surprised himself. He dried his hands and exhaled as he made his back to show his new visitor the way out. What he found, however, was said visitor completely and utterly passed out on his bed, wearing nothing but underwear and Jack’s old Stanford t-shirt. He curled into himself like a small parenthesis. 

“Are you kidding me?” Jack muttered to himself. “Come on!”

He marched right up to his bed and shook it. 

“Hey! Hey, Richard! Come on, man. You have to go!”

“How do you do?” Richard muttered.

“How do I do? Come on, none of that. You have to go,” Jack said as he nudged him.

The only thing that happened was that he curled even tighter and sunk deeper into Jack’s pillow. Jack sighed. He plopped down onto his bed ran his fingers through his hair and contemplated what to do next. He turned to look down at Richard and studied his face. How peaceful he looked. His eyelids danced and fluttered as Richard was already lost in a deep dream. 

“Had to be cute,” Jack said. 

He huffed out a breath, and let himself relax a bit. How did he end up in that situation? Knight would be laughing… hell, Knight would be proud, and then he would be laughing. Jack listened to Richard’s breathing, soothing like a metronome. Soon, Jack felt his eyes grow heavy as he began to fall asleep in spite of himself.


	3. Whatever I Liked, All Day Long

Jack woke the next morning, and realized he had knocked out right next to Richard. Richard who was still completely out like a light. Richard who had a muscular thigh draped over Jack’s calf. Yep, that Richard. Jack rolled his eyes at himself and was thankful no hanky panky had gone on. That’s all he needed right now. No, thank you.

He carefully slipped out of the bed and yawned as he gave himself a big stretch. He walked over to his coffee machine and began to fill the pot with water. Coffee first, then he’d deal with the guy.

He sat at his desk and logged into his email.

> To: jlzimmermann@ap.org  
>  From: pmurray@ap.org
> 
> The Prince is sick, don’t bother showing up at the Embassy today. Here’s the official release from the Embassy, Nurse already reposted. We’re all good.
> 
> https://www.apnews.com/30acd0c3-%d61e45c1-d61fd79676+1
> 
> \- Murray

Jack sighed. On the one hand, he was happy he didn’t have to deal with any of that royal nonsense, on the other, that’s another story he’s missing out on. One less byline. Jack clicked on the link to the article.

_A SPECIAL EMBASSY BULLETIN REPORTS THE SUDDEN ILLNESS OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE ERIC OF GEORGIANA._

Jack stared at the Prince’s photo. It was the first time he’d seen what he looked like… and well, shit. He looked just like Richard. Wait, what? 

Jack turned to look at Richard. 

“ _Crisse_ ,” Jack said to himself.

He quickly googled Prince Eric and clicked on the “images” tab. There before him was a screenful of Prince Eric thumbnails.

“ _Crisse_ ,” Jack repeated.

Jack quietly made his way to the bed. He leaned down and got close to Richard’s ear.

“Your highness?” 

“Yes…” he mumbled, still half-asleep. 

“Prince Eric?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

Jack fist-pumped the air. Of all the dumb fucking luck.

Jack turned back to look at Richard—or rather, Eric. Prince Eric. Was this the universe testing this mettle? Was this some sort of career test? Sure, he liked the guy. He was sweet and cute as hell, but this was also the opportunity of a lifetime. Jack was always pushing himself to be better, and right now, the golden goose was asleep in his studio apartment.

Jack was filled with a million questions. Why was the Prince drunk on the street alone and unsupervised? Where had he come from? Unless… the palace schmucks didn’t know where he was. He did say he was happy because he escaped. _Crisse_ , he escaped. 

Jack’s heart began to race imaging the scoop this would be. Would he be willing to open up to Jack and give him an interview? An unguarded, fully open interview on what it meant to be a royal; the pressures, the demands, the heartache. Jack paced back and forth and felt the beginnings of a panic attack. He stopped and counted from ten to one as he breathed deeply.

He’d probably say no. Royals are notoriously private. So… then… he could just write it as an outside observer. Get to know him. That would be okay, right? He ran back to his desk and grabbed his phone.

 **Jack** : _You busy?_

 **Knight** : _Not anymore what with the Prince getting sick and shit._

 **Jack** : _He’s here._

 **Knight** : _Who’s here?_

 **Jack** : _The Prince._

 **Knight** : _The fuck you talking about?_

 **Jack** : _It’s a long story but I promise you, the Prince is here._

 **Knight** : _GTFO_

 **Jack** : _Just, stay close by, and if everything works out we’ll have the damn story of the year._

 **Knight** : _JFC!_

 **Jack** : _Tell me about it. I’ll be in touch. And don’t say anything to anyone._

 **Knight** : _My lips are sealed._

Jack looked over at Eric one more time, and pushed down any guilt he may have had forming.

Eric slowly stirred, awoken by the smell of coffee brewing. His eyes fluttered opened and he gave himself a delicious full body stretch. The bed felt a tad smaller today, and his legs were a wee bit cold, and why were the sheets so scratchy? And… oh… oh, my goodness!

“The elevator!” he said with a gasp as he shot upright.

A man stood nearby with a cup of coffee. 

“Morning,” he said with a smile. “Coffee?”

Eric yelped and pulled the sheets up to his chin.

“Where am I? Where have you taken me?!” he demanded.

The man chuckled. “Um, excuse me, Richard, but if anything, I’m the one that should be cheesed off here. You crashed here last night and kicked me out of my bed.”

“I crashed here… last night?” he asked, voice whispered.

The man smiled and nodded. He took a sip from the mug. “You didn’t want any, did you?”

Eric peeked under the blanket.

“Where are my pants?!”

“Apparently, you threw them over there. I’m Jack, by the way. And no, you haven’t been kidnapped, nothing happened between us—we were both perfect gentlemen—and basically, I found you on the street, drunk as a skunk, and offered you some coffee. Then, you took over my bed and I didn’t have the heart to kick you out and well, here we are.”

It all came back to Eric, and suddenly, he was mortified.

“Did I talk about coffee?” he asked with his brow furrowed.

“Apparently, you love it,” Jack said.

Eric looked around the room. “You… live here?”

“Yeah, I know. You hate it. You made your feelings about that perfectly clear.”

“How dreadful. I’m,” Eric sighed. “I’m terribly sorry—for barging in on your life, for displacing you from your bed, for anything negative I might have said about your home. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. Apology accepted,” Jack said and he handed Eric the mug.

“I’ve never been alone with a strange man before, so as you can imagine, this is quite unusual.”

“Good thing for you I’m not strange,” Jack chirped. He picked up Eric’s pants and handed them to him. “So you’ve never had a… sleepover before?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” Eric blushed as he snatched the pants away. “I’m very selective.”

“Right, sorry,” Jack said looking sheepish. “I’m going to finish my coffee on the balcony and give you a little privacy. The bathroom’s there. I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink.” 

“Thank you, Jack.”

Eric watched as Jack made his way to the tiny balcony. He put the coffee down on the nightstand and gave his pants a good shake. Eric looked at the time on the microwave clock. God, the staff at the Embassy must be furious. Lord, would they think he was kidnapped? No, probably not. Eric had a feeling he was probably sloppy in covering his trail as he snuck out last night. He pulled on his pants and made his way to the bathroom. Goodness, he looked a fright. What was in that pill exactly?

After he washed his face and brushed his teeth, he felt ready to move on and face the music at the Embassy. He buttoned his shirt and tried to flatten out the wrinkles the best he could.

“I have to get going now,” Eric said as he stepped out onto the balcony. “I have, um, an appointment I can’t miss. I’m… I’m being expected.”

“Oh? Back at the Colosseum, eh?” Jack said with a broad smile.

“Pardon me?”

Jack smiled again and shook his head. 

“Do you need money for a cab or anything? I’m not sure how far you’re going, but it didn’t look like you had a wallet on you or anything.”

Eric checked his pockets. 

“No, I don’t suppose I have any money. Could I… that is, would you let me borrow some? I promise, I’ll have someone repay you later today.”

“Sure.” Jack pulled out a wad of cash and handed it Eric. “Well, thanks for the sleepover, I guess.”

Eric felt his cheeks burn. “Yes, thank you.”

The two looked at each other momentarily, and it was right there that Eric finally noticed how attractive Jack was. Objectively, Eric knew Jack was handsome but seeing him stand there, barefoot in the morning sun, in his tight white t-shirt and linen pants, it was a whole other level. He shook his head to snap out of his momentary daze.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Eric was too mortified to stay, no matter how handsome Jack was. He exited the studio and was immediately engulfed by the early morning Roman heat. He walked downstairs and out the courtyard then made his way through the busy Italian street which ran beside the Trevi Fountain, unsure what to do with himself. He had the money Jack had loaned him, and the walk from Jack’s place to the Embassy was a long one—so much to see on his way there. He relished the thought.

But the heat! God, it was hot. Was it always that hot so early in the day? He stopped and unbuttoned the top buttons of his white linen shirt, then rolled up his sleeves way past his forearms. He sat at the fountain and took it all in. Merchants had carts and kiosks out and about along the via selling fruit, flowers, art, even shoes, and Eric smiled. 

Two smalls dogs chased each other snapping at their tails, a tiny baby cried as he clung to his mother, a nun looked at an artist’s paintings, two men haggled over the price of fruit. Life was happening all around him; it was frenetic, loud, and one of the most beautiful things Eric had ever seen.

Taking his shoes off, he rolled up his pants and dipped his feet into the cool waters of the Trevi. Two small children splashed about and Eric smiled blissfully. He couldn’t believe he was actually at the Trevi, alone, unbothered… living. It was early enough that the crowds weren’t unmanageable. He watched the children play a bit longer and admired the splendor of the fountain. That moment was a tiny gift for him. He shook off the water from his feet, and walked over to the shoe kiosk.

“How much?” Eric asked pointing to a pair of white espadrilles. His leather loafers felt as though they were suffocating him. 

“25 lire,” the old man said.

Eric counted out the money and gave it to the vendor. 

“Here, you can take these, too,” he said as he gingerly left his loafers.

“Berluti?!” the man asked, eyes wide, admiring the expensive shoes.

“Yours are much nicer. Thank you,” Eric said with a smile and a wave. He slipped on the espadrilles, rolled up his pants a little higher, and continued on his way.

Window shopping was a thing he knew people did, he saw it in the movies and on television shows, but had never actually done it himself. Browser window shopping was the closest Eric had ever come. Making his way down from shop to shop, he peered in the windows, delighted at every stop. The last store on that particular block was a barber shop. The large illustrated poster in the window showed various fades and razor cuts.

Eric stared at his own reflection in the window, suddenly annoyed at the longish curls he’d kept for so long to please his mother. He ran his fingers through his hair and gathered up the courage to walk inside. There was one man in the middle of a shave, and one man sitting at his station reading some sort of hockey magazine.

“ _Mi scusi, per favore._ Can I… can I get a haircut?” Eric mimed some scissors on his hair as he smiled at the man.

“Haircut? Sure. Come in,” he said as he sat up and dusted off the barber chair. “What do you want?”

Eric looked at the poster next to the man’s station. He studied each cut and knew when he found the one.

“Number 15, please?”

“Undercut?”

“Yes, please.”

“Undercut? You sure? But you have nice curls,” the man said as he gestured at Eric’s hair.

“Yes. Please,” Eric said with resolution. “Undercut.”

The man frowned. “Okay, okay. Undercut.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” Eric asked as the man took out his electric clippers.

“No, I’m from Russia.”

“Russia! My, what brings you to Italy?”

“Work,” he said as he tipped Eric’s chin down and began to buzz the back of his head.

“Same,” Eric said with a soft sigh.

Thirty minutes later, the man brushed off loose hairs from Eric’s neck; the sweet scent of barber’s talc filled the space.

“Undercut!” the man said proudly as he removed Eric’s cape, and swiveled him around to face the mirror.

“Oh…” Eric said as he stared at the reflection of someone he barely recognized. 

His jawline seemed sharper, his eyes stronger somehow. Whatever hint of adolescent youth he may have had still clinging to him was now gone. Eric saw the reflection of a man before him, and it startled him. He finally looked like his 25 years. A babyface no more. He could feel the tears begin to well in his eyes.

“Lord, I’m so sorry,” he said as he sniffed. “Forgive me!”

The barber frowned. “Why are you crying? You hate my cut?”

“No, no, I’m terribly sorry. No, it’s wonderful! It’s just… a lot to take in,” Eric said, embarrassed.

“You look cute! Very cute!” the barber countered. He offered Eric a box of tissues. “Here, I don’t like people sad.”

“Thank you,” Eric said then dabbed at his eyes.

“You look modern. You musician, maybe?”

Eric smiled and shook his head. 

“You artist? Painter? I know! You’re model! Model? You should meet me and my friends tonight. It's on a boat on the Tibérine, the river by Saint Angelo. There will be moonlight, music, maybe romance?” the barber said with a smile. “What do you say?”

“I wish I could,” Eric said sincerely.

“Okay… okay. But if you change your mind, dancing on river tonight. Remember, Saint Angelo. My name is Alexei,” he said with a small bow of the head.

“Oh, please don’t bow. Really, please. Thank you, Alexei. It was a true delight to meet you.”

“Nine o’clock,” Alexei called out as Eric exited.

Eric handed Alexei some money and smiled as he left. He ran his fingers across the back of his head, stroking the softness of the just-shorn hair there, feeling ten pounds lighter and happier than he had in a very long time.

Jack watched from a safe distance as Prince Eric had bought a pair of shoes, traveled across the Piazza di Spagna, and then spied on him while he got a haircut. A haircut of all things! When Eric left the barber shop, Jack saw him smile in a way he yet to see—definitely not in any way found in his online photos. He smiled with confidence and a carefree spirit. The haircut aged him in a wonderful way, Jack thought. He looked grown, mature. Handsome. Very handsome. Jack swallowed dryly as Eric stroked the back of his neck as he walked.

What really amazed Jack was how easily Eric walked through the crowd, completely unnoticed and unrecognized. Here was a member of a well-known royal family and he was buying bargain shoes from a kiosk on the street.

Eric approached a small gelato cart and was soon given a cone. He then made his way toward the Spanish Steps where he sat to enjoy his treat.

Jack decided it was time to “bump into” Eric again, and in front of him. He stopped for an overly dramatic double-take.

“Hey, it’s you!” he said putting on his best look of surprise.

“Jack! Hello!”

“Or is it you? Did you decide to get a makeover between now and my place?”

Eric smiled. “I got a haircut!”

“So this was the appointment you were in a rush to get to?” he asked as he put his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual.

“No, this was… spontaneous.” Eric ran his fingers through his hair and smiled again. “Such a small thing, you know? But, so important.”

“Never thought about it,” Jack said.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve never had to give it much thought, but for me, it was everything,” Eric said with an enormous smile. He gave his gelato a quick lick.

“So I thought you had somewhere to be?” Jack asked as he settled on the steps next to Eric.

Eric sighed. He licked at his pinky which was covered with melting gelato. “I do… but, I don’t want to.”

“How come?”

“Jack, can I confess something?”

“As long as you don’t make me an accomplice to anything illegal.”

“I ran away from--from uni.”

Jack raised his eyebrows and tried to look surprised. 

“A fugitive,” he chirped.

Eric shrugged. “Ah, well, you know how uni pressures are. Finals, exams—not a single moment to oneself. So, I am sort of playing hooky for the morning but now I’ve had my fun and I have to go back.”

Jack almost felt sorry for him. Almost, and then he went in for the kill.

“Why don’t you just take the whole day for yourself? Live dangerously.”

Eric laughed skeptically. “The whole day?”

“Sure, why not? If you could do anything, what would it be?”

Jack smiled as he watched Eric’s face light up.

“I could do just about anything, couldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you could.”

“Oh, you can't imagine... I'd, I'd like to do just whatever I'd like, the whole day long if I could.”

“Like cut your hair, eh?”

Eric laughed, and it was full of joy. 

“Yes! Well, I’d sit at a sidewalk cafe and have a cocktail, window shop some more, walk in the rain, eat a huge meal and be totally messy about it. It may sound silly to you, but to me a regular day sounds divine.”

That could be the story Jack was looking for. He just knew it—a one-on-one, real conversation on all the pressures of royal life; not any of these watered down royal accounts. This would be real and true. He had to text Knight right away.

“I tell you what, how about we do all those things. I mean, I don’t know if it’ll rain or not, but everything else is doable. Consider today a Roman holiday.”

He stood up and offered Eric his hand.

“But why? Why would you want to spend your day with me? Don’t you have things to do? Work?” Eric asked he stared at Jack’s hand without taking it.

“Work schmerk. Come on, a day of whatever you want.”

Eric studied Jack, then nodded. “All right. Let’s do it.”

“Perfect! First stop, one sidewalk cafe. Come on.”

They approached a small cafe just down the street and Jack placed his hand on the small of Eric’s back. He was surprised to feel the tight musculature there. He was lithe and compact, but apparently quite strong.

“Here, have a seat and I’m just going to the men’s room. Be right back,” Jack said.

Jack walked quickly into the men’s room and went inside a stall. He locked the door and pulled out his phone.

 **Jack** : _We’re at the Bar San Marcello. Come over quick!_

 **Knight** : _I’ve been waiting forever for you to text me back. What the fuck, brah!_

 **Jack** : _Get over here now, Knight. He’s here._

 **Knight** : _The Prince?_

 **Jack** : _Yeah!_

 **Knight** : _Prince Eric of Georgiana?_

 **Jack** : _YES!_

 **Knight** : _That sweet looking ray of sunshine?_

 **Jack** : _He doesn’t know that I know who he is. Look. We’ll spend the day with him, maybe there’s a story, maybe there isn’t. Don’t you want to be the one to take the pics if there is a story?_

 **Knight** : _It makes me feel kinda dirty, Jackabelle. And not in a fun way._

 **Jack** : _Don’t start getting scruples on me now, man._

 **Knight** : _Brah! I’ve ALWAYS had scruples!_

**Jack** : _It’s a job. Let’s get it done. I expect you here in ten minutes. We’re sitting outside._

Jack exhaled loudly and put his phone in his back pocket. He could feel a panic attack coming on. Was Knight right? He plopped himself down onto the toilet and began his breathing exercises. Clearly, he was not in the most ideal place for deep breathing but Jack figured it was karmic justice.

A few minutes passed and he stood up. He walked over the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He could do this, right?

“Okay, Zimmermann. You have a job to do,” he said to himself as he exited.

Eric sat at a cafe table and ate some bread. He looked absolutely thrilled to people watch. The lazy breeze in the air whipped his newly cut hair around his face. Jack paused and watched for a moment, then gave himself a mental kick in the pants.

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” Eric said as he waved Jack over.

“Yeah, it is,” Jack replied as he began to keep an eye out for Knight.

A waiter came over to take their order. “ _Cosa vuoi bere_?” he asked.

“What do you want to drink?” Jack asked.

“Champagne, please,” Eric replied excitedly.

“ _Uno champagne e un caffè freddo, per favore,_ ” Jack ordered as the waiter nodded and then left. 

Jack turned to Eric and smiled. 

“Champagne? That must be some fancy university if you’re used to champagne for lunch,” he chirped.

Eric blushed and said, “It’s a special day, so I went for a special drink.” He then shook his head. “We only get champagne on special occasions.”

“Like?”

Eric took another bite of his crusty bread and looked like he was trying to remember.

“The last time was during my father’s anniversary.”

“Wedding anniversary?”

Eric sopped up some olive oil. “No, it was… um, his work anniversary.”

Jack smirked. “What does your dad do?”

Eric took a big gulp of water, apparently biding his time. “Public relations,” he finally said.

“That seems like a lot of work,” Jack added. “What about you? What are you in school for? Going to follow in your old man’s footsteps?”

“Old man?” Eric giggled. “No one has ever called him that.”

“Not even you?” 

“Lord, especially not me.”

“What do you call him?”

Eric blushed. “What do you call your father, Jack?”

“Papa.”

Eric’s lips quirked into a tiny smile. “Papa?”

Jack nodded. “Sure.”

“I call my father sir.”

“As in ‘Yes, sir?’ and ‘No, sir?’” 

“That sounds about right,” Eric said.

Jack frowned and was about to ask something else when the waiter came with their drinks.

“Cheers,” Jack said as he raised his iced coffee.

“Cheers,” Eric said with a smile. “Well, speaking of work, what do you do?”

Jack, caught off guard, wasn’t sure what to say—he felt stupid not planning his backstory better.

“Jackabelle here is one of the best writers around,” Knight said as he plopped onto the seat next to Eric’s. “BS Knight, at your service.”

“Oh--” Eric said, taken aback.

“Hey, man. What a coincidence!” Jack said as he sounded unconvincing to himself. “Forgive him, he has the manners of a mule. This is my friend, Knight.”

Knight’s mustache twitched. “Right. Coincidence. The world is full of mystery and wonder,” he said flatly. 

“Richard. Charmed.”

Knight’s eyebrows flew up. 

“Likewise, I’m sure,” he said with a grin and shook Eric’s hand. Knight studied him briefly, then smiled broadly. “Well you're just a bitty little thing, aren't ya?” 

“What an odd thing to say to someone you just met,” Eric replied.

Jack looked over at Eric and grinned. 

“Bitty! I'm going to call you Bitty!” Knight suddenly yelled out and slammed the table with his fist.

“Please don't,” Eric said with a small laugh. “Although... I've never had a nickname before.” 

“Never?” Knight asked wide-eyed.

“No, never. And today is a day of firsts.” 

Knight took Eric’s hand and dramatically held it to his chest. “Well, that's just the saddest shit I've ever heard.”

Eric laughed again, a full body laugh, as he pulled his hand away. 

“Bitty... I think I like it,” he said.

Jack found himself smiling at the entire exchange, inexplicably charmed, in spite of himself. He could practically feel his own heart eyes.

“So what are you doing here?” Jack asked. He felt his stomach knot a tiny bit with the lie that rolled so easily off his tongue.

“I was just walking by, enjoying the Italians sights, and lo and behold, here you are. I guess it’s seren-fucking-dipity!” Knight said. He then took a giant swig of Jack’s coffee. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, not at all,” Eric said. 

“So what are we talking about?” Knight said making himself at home.

Jack groaned internally.

“I was just asking Jack what he did for a living and you said he was a writer, remember?”

“‘Chyeah! I thought he was going to be a best-selling author.”

Eric looked delighted. “Is that so?”

“That… that really wasn’t in the cards for me,” Jack said uncomfortably.

“Why not?”

Knight jumped in, “Because hotshot here thought he should follow in his pop’s footsteps, ain’t that right?”

Jack glared at Knight, who then looked as though he realized he’d stuck his foot in his mouth.

“I wanted to be like my dad and go into the family business, so I gave up creative writing,” Jack said matter-of-factly hoping it would end the conversation.

“Yes, I know what that’s like… the family business and all,” Eric said sadly.

Knight glanced at Jack and then changed the subject. 

“Hey, how about I take a picture of you two? You have this great light on you, Bitty,” Knight said.

“Oh, no--I’d rather…” Bitty paused then looked at Knight. “Well, I suppose it’s fine. No one’s ever actually asked my permission before.”

“What?” Knight frowned.

“No, nothing. Never mind.”

Jack and Eric scooted closer together as Knight took out his small Leica camera.

“Say cheese,” he called out. Knight looked at the photo and grinned. “Cute as shit!”

“Thanks?” Eric replied looking unsure. He took a long drink of his champagne.

“Careful now, you don’t want to get drunk before you’ve even started your adventure,” Jack said.

“Adventure?” Knight asked. 

“Richard, here--”

“Bitty,” Knight supplied.

“Bitty,” Jack amended as Eric smiled, “is playing hooky today so we’re doing all the things he’s never had the chance to do.”

“‘Swawesome! Can I come? I hope we got some illegal goings-on planned.”

“No, not at all,” Eric said quickly. “I’m sure it would be boring stuff for you.”

“Let’s go all out,” Knight said. “Come on, it’ll be a blast.”

Jack watched as Eric’s face lit up. “Really? Even if it’s mundane stuff?”

“Why the heck not?” Knight added. “Finish your drinky drank, Bitty, and we’ll hit the road.”

Eric smiled. “All right.”


	4. Running Around Town

“First stop, your place,” Jack announced.

Eric’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“The Colosseum, right?” Jack said.

“Oh,” Eric laughed. “Yes, right.”

He swallowed down the residual panic that still coursed through his veins and followed Jack into Knight’s tiny Fiat.

“I hope the lines aren’t too bonkers. It’s too hot to stand out there roasting like a pig on a spit,” Knight said as he pulled out into traffic.

“Have you been to the Colosseum before?” Jack asked.

“Once, when I was about five. We had a private tour, but I don’t remember much.”

“A private tour?” Jack asked. “That’s impressive.”

Eric could kick himself at his gaffe. He had to be more mindful if he wanted to have this day.

“Well, you know with about sixty other people. It was part of, um, a group tour?”

Jack smiled at him—a knowing smile that confused Eric. Eric frowned at Jack and Jack grinned as he looked out the window.

Knight filled the car with busy chatter as he asked Eric about various things (“What’s your favorite color?” “Favorite food?” “Your stance on globalization's effects on world agricultural trade?”) and when they arrived at the Colosseum and parked, they were dismayed to find the lines were longer than usual.

“I knew they’d be lines, but fuck. Are they showing an actual gladiator fight today or something?” Knight said with a frown.

“Sorry, bud, we might not be able to see this today,” Jack said. 

Eric shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not as though I haven’t been here before, remember?”

“Lemme go see if any fast passes are available,” Knight said. “Be right back.”

Eric nodded and walked over to a row of beautiful shiny Vespas parked off to the side as Jack looked at some of the cheap souvenirs on a vendor’s table.

“Wow,” Eric said breathlessly.

“You ever ridden one of those before?” Jack asked as he sidled up next to Eric.

“These? Are you kidding? Gosh, no. My mother wouldn’t allow it.” Eric wistfully ran his hand across the seat of a beautiful mint green Vespa. “Still seems awfully fun.”

“ _Un'ora. Centosessantotto euro_ ,” the man at the booth said.

“He’s trying to rent it for an hour,” Jack said.

“Oh, no. _No grazie_ ,” Eric replied.

Jack shook his head. “ _Due ore_ ,” he said as he held up two fingers. 

The man shook his head in return and the two began to haggle.

Eric watched with a smile as a scooter zoomed by. It really did look like so much fun. He walked over to read a sign, written in English and Italian, next to the scooters. _Remember! The brake levers are just like a mountain bike. Turn on the ignition, start the engine, press that red button then release the brake._

“Huh, interesting,” he said to himself. Another scooter zipped across the street.

He glanced over at Jack who was now gesticulating wildly at the man as the two spoke loudly. Eric, meanwhile, decided it might be fun to just sit on the Vespa. Just to try it out. So he did. Oh, would you look at that? The key was magically there. He also decided it might be even more fun to turn on the ignition. So he did.

Now, he wasn’t sure exactly what came over him, but suddenly he pulled out of the sidewalk and was racing down the Piazza del Colosseo, weaving in and out messily between cars and people. He heard Jack yell after him and Eric threw back his head in surprised laughter as he really took off.

Jack and the man both shouted and chased after him. What on earth was he doing? His mother would have had a fit! He zoomed by an astonished Knight who stood with his mouth open near the ticket booth. Eric couldn’t help but cackle with glee. 

There was no stopping him now as he went around the entire Colosseum, and while under normal circumstances he would have been praying he wouldn’t get hurt or would have been worried about protocol, but in that moment he honestly just didn’t give a fuck. He laughed maniacally as he returned to his starting point, turned off the scooter and coasted right back into the spot the Vespa had been parked in. 

Jack and the man finally caught up with him, and the man roughly pulled Eric off the Vespa. Of course, when faced with a full on Italian verbal lashing, Eric reconsidered how many fucks he should have given.

“I’m sorry!” Eric yelled out as he held up his hands in supplication.

«I’m sorry! We’re with the AP and are writing a story on Vespa theft», Jack said in rapid Italian. 

Eric understood most of it. He saw Jack take something out his wallet and show something to the man. It was a card of some sort. The man nodded and turned to look at Eric.

“Sorry,” Eric said as he gingerly gave the man the keys back.

Jack pulled Eric away and quickly put a lot of distance between them and the Vespas.

“Holy shit, Bitty. That was ‘swawesome!” Knight yelled out as he trotted up alongside them when he finally caught up. “And you said today would be boring! The fuck, brah!”

“So, was petty theft in your bucket list, too?” Jack asked.

Eric blushed and covered his face. “I’ve never done anything like that in my entire sheltered life! I have no idea what came over me.”

He fanned his face as Knight clapped him on the back.

“I took some pictures while you were zooming away,” Knight said. “That was something else!”

“Well I, for one, am surprised. That took a lot of moxy, bud. I never would have expected anything like that from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Eric wrinkled his nose. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Someone so… reserved,” Jack replied. “It’s just—very unexpected… and I guess, sort of neat.”

The two stared at each other and Eric saw Jack’s mouth quirk up into a grin. A fluttering wind came and flipped Eric’s collar up. Jack reach out and straightened it up, and Eric felt his face flush.

Jack coughed and step back slightly. 

“And speaking of reserved,” he finally said, “we should probably do something a little more low-key next, eh? Let’s try to stay out of jail today.”

Eric laughed. “Sounds good!”

The three made their way back to Knight’s car.

“Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“You told that man you were with the ‘AP’—what did you mean?”

Jack and Knight exchanged a glance.

“If you tell people you work for the press, they, euh, pretty much let you get away with anything. A little white lie to get you off the hook, right?”

“Oh… oh, okay,” Eric said and instantly pushed away any doubt, deep down.

Just outside the doors of the Santa Maria in Cosmedin church, rests the _Bocca della Verità_. This 1300 kg mask which depicts the face of the sea titan Oceanus has delighted tourists for years. Some people come and go, wanting to be judged by this historical piece while others think it is merely kitsch. And it was on that particular afternoon, that the Mouth of Truth patiently waited to judge Knight, Jack, and Bitty.

“The _Bocca della Verità_ —or Mouth of Truth—is all knowing,” Knight said as he read from the small pamphlet. “While the origin is up for debate, legend has it that if one tells a lie and sticks their hand inside Oceanus’ mouth, the hand will be fucking bit the fuck off!”

Bitty laughed. “It does not say that!”

“Sure it does, see?” Knight said as he waved the pamphlet around.

“It does not have all those F-bombs in there,” Jack grinned.

“It does,” Shitty said nonchalantly. “Or does it?” He proceeded to stick his hand in the mask, then stopped at the last second. “All right! Who’s going first?”

“It’s just a silly myth,” Bitty said. “It’s a fiction!’

Jack stared at Oceanus’ gaping mouth. He couldn’t decide if he was challenging Jack or ridiculing him.

“Well, then go ahead, Bitty. If it’s such a fiction, you go first…”

“Uh… I don’t want to cut in line,” Bitty replied softly not taking his eyes off the mask. “Knight you--you’re already there.”

Knight hemmed and hawed. “How about I take your picture?” 

He stood by Jack and shoved him closer to the mask.

“I think Bitty should have the first dibs,” Jack said.

Bitty looked at Jack, the worry spread across his face. He then took a deep breath and approached the mask. He moved closer and closer still, hand nearing the mouth, but at the last minute Bitty pulled away and giggled nervously.

“What if there’s a spider in there?” he said. “No, thanks. You go... Let’s see you do it.”

Knight smiled as he took several photos of the moment.

Now Jack was not a superstitious person, but he did believe in karmic justice. Would this mask gnaw off his paw? No. Would the entire thing fall off the wall and smash him to a meaty Canadian pulp? The universe might do that. Still...

He glanced as Bitty watched him, completely rapt. 

Jack took a step forward and stretched out his hand.

“Say cheese!” Knight yelled out, startling them both.

Bitty sidled up behind Jack, peering over his shoulder, as Jack slowly began to slip his fingers into the mask’s mouth. He felt Bitty’s hand tightly grip his upper arm.

His hand slid in, wrist-deep, and suddenly Jack gave out a loud cry.

“Ahhh!” 

Bitty screamed just as Jack pulled his hand back out and waved at him.

“You jerk!” Bitty cried out as he smacked Jack’s arm. “You total jerk!” 

Jack and Knight laughed as Jack instinctively pulled Bitty into his arms and gave him a soothing squeeze. 

“You are such a rapscallion!” Bitty said, still shouting. 

Jack smiled as Bitty stopped hitting him, and it was then that Jack realized that he was melting into the embrace. They both were. Bitty rested his face on Jack’s shoulder, and all Jack wanted to do was lean down and smell the top of his head. They remained in that position for a few moments until Knight cleared his throat. 

The two immediately separated and Jack glared at Knight, who in turn, wagged his brows.

“That was something,” Knight said with a shit-eating grin. “Wasn’t it?”

“Um… sorry. You--you really gave me a fright, huh?” Bitty said.

He then walked back onto the sidewalk, quickly leaving Jack and Knight behind.

“Yeah, Jack. You really gave him a fright,” Knight said to Jack, his grin, somehow, growing even broader.

Jack stood by the Mouth of Truth… speechless.

When Jack finally composed himself, he made his way in the direction Bitty and Knight had headed off to, but they suddenly disappeared. 

“Bits? Knight?”

Jack walked along a narrow street and then it was the smell that hit him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said as he shook his head. 

He followed the scent and found the two in a small doorway snickering. Knight reached out and pulled Jack into their huddle.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked.

Bitty smiled nervously. “I’ve never… _smoked_ before.”

“Cigarettes?” Jack asked hopeful he was mistaken even though he already knew the answer.

“Not quite,” Knight said with a smirk.

“ _Crisse_ , Knight—you two are smoking grass!”

“Grass?” Knight said looking alarmed. He then snorted and began to laugh. “Jeez, Jack, you’re such an old man.”

Bitty grinned mischievously and delicately took it from Knight. 

“My parents would have a fit,” he whispered.

“No smoking in school then?” Jack asked as he kept a lookout while Knight and Bitty giggled some more. 

“No, never!” 

Jack glared at Knight who shrugged. “What? Don’t look at me like that.”

Bitty took one hit then coughed. He wrinkled his nose and passed it back to Knight.

“Well, what's the verdict?” Jack asked.

“Nothing to it,” Bitty said with a smirk.

Knight high fived Bitty and howled with laughter.

“Okay, that’s enough you two,” Jack said as he fanned the air around him and mumbled something under his breath about nonsense. “Let’s go get some lunch.”

“Can we have spaghetti?” Bitty asked excitedly.

“We can have whatever you want, bud,” Jack replied. 

He could see Knight from the corner of his eye, smiling at them. He shoved Knight as Bitty walked ahead of them. 

Bitty delicately stepped over some garbage and then said, “I’ve never been to a local restaurant for lunch before--” He then stopped himself and said, “I mean, without my, um, family.”

Jack and Knight exchanged a look.

“Are they super overprotective or something?” Knight asked.

“You could say that…” Bitty smiled and said, “I’m going to order everything I want, as much as I want, make a mess and not care.” 

He continued to walk ahead of them, happily singing to himself and Jack swore he had never seen anyone as adorable as Bitty was.

They made their way to nearby backstreet eatery which was tucked inside a little house next to the Palazzo Scanderbeg. The tables spilled out onto the quaint cobbled streets in the lazy summer heat.

“I’ll go get us a table,” Knight said.

“This… is perfect.” Bitty smiled at Jack, and Jack could help but smile back.

It seemed as though both of them were doing a lot of smiling that day; a realization not lost on Jack. When they were finally sitting down, Bitty hummed as he looked at the menu. The lunch menu had exactly four items: spaghetti bolognese, pappardelle with rabbit ragu, cacio e pepe, and melon with prosciutto. 

Jack leaned over and whispered, “What are you thinking?”

“Why are you whispering, Jack?”

Jack felt his cheeks burn. “I’m not sure,” he said with a laugh.

Bitty smirked and gently smacked his hand with the menu.

“Maybe I’ll get one of everything, and won’t share.”

“Not even with me?” Jack asked.

“If you ask nicely.”

Jack was about to volley back with another chirp when he noticed Knight looking at them with a huge grin and raised eyebrows.

Jack coughed and looked down at his menu, suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room.

When the waiter finally came, Bitty asked, “How big are the plates?” 

“Big? Ah, _molto grosso_ ,” the waiter said then made a hand gesture to mimic something growing.

“I think I’m getting the spaghetti.” 

Jack smiled. “Sounds perfect, Bits.”

“Then I’ll have the spaghetti. Lots and lots of spaghetti!” he told the waiter.

“Right on,” Jack said with a smile. 

Jack ordered the pappardelle and two plates of the melon, while Knight ordered the _cacio e pepe_ and some more bread.

“I’m starving like Marvin, brah,” Knight said as he ripped off a chunk of crusty bread and doused it with olive oil.

“Well I’m not surprised,” Jack said. “I hear that munchies are a real thing.”

Bitty snorted and then covered his mouth. “Is that why I’m famished?” he asked wide-eyed.

Knight laughed and slapped Bitty on the back. “Bitty’s first buzz, man!”

Bitty blushed and then took some of the bread.

“Dude, I could eat an entire loaf of bread by myself,” Shitty said as he tore off another piece. “It’s always been my favorite.”

“I’ve always been partial to steak tartare,” Bitty said with a blissful smile.

“Even when you were a kid?” Knight asked.

“Especially then. What about you, Jack? What was your favorite food growing up?” Bitty asked.

“Oh, nothing that exciting,” Jack said as he blushed.

“Come on, what was it?”

“Caribou chili? Nanaimo lasagna? Poutine pie?” Knight gently chirped.

“Kraft Dinner,” Jack finally blurted out.

“What is that?” Bitty asked.

“DUDE!” Knight bellowed. “Kraft macaroni and cheese?! Come on, you’re killing me, Smalls.”

“It was one of the few things my mom and I would make together. She didn’t cook much,” Jack explained, “papa was the cook in the family—but one day he was sick, maybe the flu or something, I don’t remember, but maman was determined to make lunch for us.”

Bitty leaned in as he paid close attention, and Jack felt encouraged to continue.

“She tried to bake a chicken and it turned out super dry and the rice was a sticky mess. So in the end, she made Kraft Dinner and I helped her measure the milk and stir the powder. She was so happy, I told her it was the best lunch ever.”

“That’s so sweet, Jack,” Bitty said and patted Jack’s hand. 

Jack shrugged. “It was nice. So now, whenever I want to treat myself, I eat Kraft Dinner. My parents ship some out here for me.”

“What about sweets? Do you like sweets?” Bitty asked.

“They’re okay. I let myself have a little sweet every now and then.”

“Jack tries to avoid junk food as often as he can,” Knight said as he rolled his eyes.

“Junk food? I’ll let you know, mister, that when I bake a sweet it is a thing of beauty and there is no junk to be found anywhere.”

“You bake?” Jack asked.

“Uh-huh,” Bitty said in between sips of water. “It’s one of the few things I can do for myself, without having to meet anyone’s expectations. Cookies, tortes, soufflé, croissants, croquembouche—but my specialty is pie.”

“Pies, huh? Cherry and pecan and stuff?”

Bitty wrinkled his nose. “Yes, I do make cherry and peach and chocolate silk among others, but I have no idea what _pecan_ is.”

It was Jack’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “Pecan… you know, the nut?”

“Well, Jack, I know what a pecan is but I’m afraid I have no idea what a pecan is.” 

“What?” 

“You’re saying it wrong. It’s pecan.” 

“You mean pecan.” 

“No sir, it’s pecan.” 

“Pecan?” 

“Goodness gracious. Pecan! Are you doing this on purpose?” 

“Pecan!”

“All I know is that when I bake, I make a pecan pie. Not a pecan pie—whatever that is you’re pronouncing.” 

“You two should just get a room already!” Knight shouted.

Bitty and Jack quietly ate their bread as Knight roared with laughter.

The conversation soon continued and flowed so easily that in that moment Jack felt like he was really actively part of it. Jack smiled as he realized that this was the first time in a really long time he was actually relaxing and having a pleasant, stress-free day. He wasn’t thinking about deadlines or the next story, or what his father thought of his latest piece. He was just living in the moment… and it was good. Was this what being at ease felt like?

He enjoyed watching Bitty and Knight chat animatedly, an easy back and forth. What a simple gift it was to have the ability to talk to anyone about anything. It was something Jack had often fought for throughout his life, and while he was doing better the last few years, it was still a daily struggle for him.

He laughed as Knight continued with a kooky anecdote. 

“And then,” Knight laughed. “And then, she said, ‘Well, you get what you pay for!’” 

Bitty and Jack were practically doubled over with laughter, and Bitty placed his hand on Jack’s and left it there—it wasn’t a quick pat like the other times before, and for a split second they both froze. There it was again, the pleasant flip in Jack’s stomach. Bitty quickly pulled his hand away. The waiter came with their food and whatever had just happened, was quickly gone.

“This looks amazing,” Bitty said as he admired everyone’s dish.

“Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub,” Knight said then took his fork.

Jack watched as Bitty took his napkin and gently placed it on his lap. His posture, perfect. His table manners already impeccable. He then paused.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

Bitty smiled and said, “I am going to stuff this napkin in my shirt collar.” He then began to laugh. “And now, I have my elbows—on the table! See?”

Jack laughed at seeing Bitty be able to let his hair down like that. Knight smiled and snapped several photos of Bitty. Bitty toasted Knight with a forkful of spaghetti.

“You know, you're really not that baked. You took one tiny hit,” Jack teased.

“Oh, I don't care—it’s not that. I'm just having fun. Don't you just love having fun? Being able to do this all day, every day?"

“Jack doesn't believe in fun,” Knight said. “He's too busy trying to ‘be better.’” Knight made some air quotes as he said it.

Bitty turned to look at Jack with the saddest of expressions. “But you could have fun, if you wanted. You can do whatever you want, whenever you wanted. Couldn't you?”

Jack realized how much he was taking for granted when he saw Bitty's pained expression.

“I suppose I could.”

“Okay, I know this day is supposed to be about me but if you could do anything you wanted to today, what would it be?” 

Bitty slurped up a noodle, and Shitty watched Jack closely. Jack thought about it. He really thought about it. He put down his fork, wiped his mouth and then finally replied.

“Three years I've been here, and have yet to go to the Keats-Shelley house.”

Bitty's face lit up. “Then we must. Goodness, yes!”

“Okay,” Jack smiled. “Let's do it.”

“Wonderful! But first, I have to eat all of this,” Bitty said. He made a _nom-nom-nom_ noise and happily ate some more spaghetti.

Knight looked at Jack and a smile spread across his face.


	5. You’re Not What I’d Call Trouble

“He couldn’t have left the country. His passport is still here!” 

“You don’t think he would have a fake passport, do you?” Hall asked Alice.

“Where would he have gotten a fake passport from?” William added. “He’s not that resourceful.”

The argument echoed across the Embassy’s large sitting room. Alice, Hall and William had gathered to do damage control. The King and Queen had been informed but were told to stay put until it had been at least twenty-four hours.

They knew no foul play was involved as Eric had somehow managed to leave a note. All the note read in a somewhat sloppy—if still elegant—cursive was: _Boy, bye_. 

William had entered Eric’s bedchamber that morning and when he saw Eric’s pajamas strewn about and the bedsheets tied to the bedpost and hanging out the window, he knew it would be the type of day where he’d wished he would have stayed in IT consulting. 

“He’s throwing a tantrum,” Hall said roughly.

“He’s a grown man,” Alice rebutted. “He’s not throwing a tantrum, he just needs some space.”

“Did he say anything to you? Give you any sort of indication of his plotting?” Hall asked.

“No, nothing. He’s been his usual self,” William added. “I thought things were going well this trip. Less mopey than in Geneva.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Alice called out.

A group of secret service men filled the room, ready for their orders.

“We imagine he’s still in Rome. So go to all the touristy areas, and for god’s sake be inconspicuous, will you? Find him and bring him back without creating a ruckus. And take all your men.”

“I am so stuffed, I don’t think I can eat another thing for the rest of the day,” Bitty said as he rubbed his tummy.

“Brah, you totally chowed. Two gigantic bowls of spaghetti, grissini, the melon, and all that bread,” Knight said. “Where did you put it?”

Bitty smiled and then turned to notice that Jack was looking at him. Bitty felt his face flush. He focused his attention back on Knight.

“Is there anything better than eating something you’ve wanted to eat and as much as you wanted, without anyone hounding you about table manners, portion sizes and other nonsense?”

“I’m not hounding you, brah. I’m impressed,” Knight said.

The three made their way down the sidewalk, and Bitty couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so content. He knew it would soon be over, but he just wanted to live in that moment, as long as he could.

“Oh, look a gelato cart!” Bitty said excitedly. 

Jack laughed. “Let’s get some.” 

Just then Knight’s phone beeped and he practically fumbled it as he tried to read the incoming text.

“Is it Duan?” Jack asked.

“Look at him!” Bitty smiled. “All flustered!”

Knight flipped them off and read the text as they snickered.

“She wants to know what I’m up to.” His grin was almost maniacal. “I can’t not reply to her text, brah!”

“Knight, I think we’re okay,” Jack said as he patted him on the back. 

“Okay, okay?” Knight said. “As in… _no news_ is good news?”

Jack smiled and nodded. “Go on, call her.”

Knight smiled and began to walk away. 

“Ain’t love grand?” he called out. He paused and then turned to hug Bitty. “If you’re doing something fun later, text me.”

Bitty laughed as Knight ran off, smiling and waving.

“Lord, look at him go. Is that what love is like?” Bitty asked.

Jack shrugged. “Infatuation, maybe? Love? I wouldn’t know about.”

“Oh,” Bitty said quietly. “Me neither.”

The two glanced at each other then Jack finally spoke.

“So, the Keats-Shelley house?”

“Yes, but first you owe me some gelato, mister.”

As Jack and Bitty made their way back toward the Spanish Steps, he couldn’t help but notice the way they nudged one another as they walked. Their easy conversation continued, and he was genuinely touched. He’d never felt so at ease with anyone before—nor had he been given the chance. He couldn’t recall a single time in the last ten years when his life didn’t revolve around his career. Even when he did go on dates, he never really felt fully present in the moment. And right then and there, there was nowhere else Jack would have rather been.

“Do you want to try some of my gelato?” Bitty asked.

“I have my own, Bits.”

“Yes, but mine is chocolate and yours is pistachio—who orders pistachio, anyway? Elderly folk, that’s who.”

“That’s certainly ageist,” Jack volleyed back.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bitty said as he blushed.

He offered Jack the cone and Jack took a quick lick, both of them locking eyes accidentally, each one blushing at the same time.

Jack wiped his lips and turned away. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Bitty looked at him with eyes, wide. “Jack, I…”

Jack paused and took a step closer to Bitty.

“Yes?”

Bitty’s gaze flitted across Jack’s face and he smiled ever so softly, and then just as before, the moment had passed. Bitty cleared his throat.

“Are we almost there?” he asked.

Jack nodded, and ignore that flip in his stomach that had just been there. 

“Yeah, just about.” 

They remained quiet the rest of the way, but Jack didn’t mind or feel awkward about it. They walked side by side, their forearms brushing occasionally. Jack found himself putting his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to touch Bitty. Soon they were back at the Spanish Steps, where just off to the right sat the Keats-Shelley House.

“So how is it that you’ve never come here before?” Eric asked as they approached the front door.

“Too busy? Too indulgent? I don’t know?” 

“Too indulgent? Is this a museum or an opium den?” Eric asked as he laughed softly.

Jack knew it was silly, but he felt that he never had time to go there with how busy he was with work. Although, if he were being honest with himself, Jack knew that wasn’t really the case. He had avoided the Keats-Shelley house because it reminded him about the life he once longed for; the dreams he had as a young boy. 

Jack held open the door at 26 Piazza di Spagna for Bitty and followed him in. They were instantly greeted by some classical music gently streaming throughout the house. Jack paid their admission and Bitty walked ahead a bit. He looked around and waited for Jack as the two began to walk through a chain of narrow rooms. 

They were flanked by various tiny treasures: drawings, sculptures, archival materials, letters, books—so many books. The decor was more lavish than either had anticipated.

“It’s rather opulent,” Bitty said as he looked at the ornate ceiling's flower motif. “I thought it would be a bit more low key for two writers.”

“Well, this was Keats we’re talking about. And Byron and Shelley crashed there occasionally.”

“Crashed, huh?” Bitty smiled and Jack beamed in return knowing he had caused the smile. 

They walked through the salon where chairs were lined up against the walls and bookcases. Bitty followed behind Jack who then stood looking out the windows. They overlooked the Spanish Steps and it seemed like ages ago that he met Bitty there. He gingerly touched the velvet curtain as he continued to peered out the small windows at the end of the salon.

“So, euh, this is the final place John Keats lived in before he died. He died here in 1821… he was just 25.”

“Twenty-five? That’s my age,” Bitty turned and looked stricken. “So much potential, gone…”

“He did write some amazing poetry before he died… and probably looked out these very same set of windows,” Jack said as Bitty peeked out from behind him. Bitty’s dark eyes studied the view outside the window. He took everything in with an innate deep curiosity, Jack could see it in his expression, and it made Jack realize—not for the first time that day—that he was truly and honestly crushing on Bitty. A lot. Their arms brushed gently against each other while Bitty squeezed in closer to get a better look, and Jack could hear his breath hitch, and when Jack turned to look at Bitty and found himself somewhat breathless as well. 

Jack shook his head as he tried to pull himself out of the Bitty-induced stupor, and continued walking through the rest of the house.

“Hey, wait for me,” Bitty called as he trotted to catch up.

“Sure, sorry,” Jack offered weakly.

“I love how you say sorry,” Bitty said as Jack felt his face flush hotly.

They walked around the tight corridors of the house, and Jack felt as though the music that streamed through the house became louder, more deliberate. The sweet, teasing melody of Satie’s “Gnossiennes No. 1” danced around them. Bitty walked ahead, Jack watched him. Jack felt himself get dizzy with possibility. The possibility of being near Bitty, of kissing him and holding him was suddenly too much for Jack.

They finally entered Keats’ bedroom just as a small group was exiting, and Jack found himself being pressed up against Bitty as the two groups traded places.

“Pardon me,” Bitty said as he blushed as the two tangled tightly together. Jack cleared his throat and walked over to Keats’ death mask which hung next to his bed.

“Lord, I've seen several in my time... but it's still jarring,” Bitty said as he studied the mask intently. 

“Several?” Jack asked. 

Bitty shrugged. “Ancestors and what not. He looked peaceful at the end, didn't he?”

“He did.”

“Do you think he was dreaming of Fanny Brawne in the end? Dreaming of love and possibilities?” Bitty asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Jack said.

And in that moment, the two were so quiet, they could hear the other breathe.

“Eric, I…” Jack began. He wanted to come clean with him, right then and there.

Just then, another crowd barged into the tiny room, forcing Jack and Bitty to exit.

“Do you want to head out to the terrace?” Bitty asked.

“Sure, yeah,” Jack said helplessly, feeling the moment pass, yet again.

They walked through a long corridor and stopped to admire a drawing by Keats. 

“This appears to be a careful freehand drawing by Keats of the Sosibios Vase in the Louvre,” Jack read. “I had no idea he drew.”

“It's nice to get out of your comfort zone and do other things that call to you, isn't it?” Bitty asked. 

“Yeah... it is. It's very brave, I suppose.”

They exited out onto a terrace and took in the view. 

“It's nice, yeah?” Jack said as he snapped a few photos with his phone. 

“Nice? Well, that's one way of putting it,” Bitty chirped. 

“Here, let me take your picture,” Jack said.

Bitty smiled as he posed. The breeze whipped his hair around and he looked carefree. Happy.

Jack showed Bitty the photos, and Bitty smiled.

“I’ll text them to you later—if you want.”

“Oh… um, sure,” Bitty said sadly.

Jack felt like a jerk for making Bitty uncomfortable once again.

“I’m glad we came,” Jack said changing the subject.

“Me too. Back in school, they offered a class on the Romantics and I always said I’d take it, but never did.”

“Which school?” Jack asked, completely without malice, as he forgot both their ruses. 

“Well, I graduated from the Sorbonne, and they’re very much into the humanities.”

“I see,” Jack said, not wanting to press further.

“Oh, uh… I…” Eric stumbled over his words.

“Bitty, it’s fine. We all have our secrets, right?” Jack replied reassuringly. “So if you went away to college, how is it you feel you’ve been so sheltered?” 

“My family is… overprotective,” Bitty said with a sigh. “They expect a lot from me—but not in the ways I would like them to. So I was always looked after to make sure I made all the right choices. And, I did, but not because of my... caregivers, or whatever, but because that’s who I wanted to be. I want to be a good person and help others. I don’t need to have it forced down my throat or indoctrinated in me, for heaven’s sake.”

“I believe that about you. Very much.”

Bitty smiled.

“What do you mean ‘not in the ways you’d like them to?’” Jack asked.

“Well, okay, it’s like this.” Bitty leaned against the railing and turned to face Jack who stood very close to him. “My family, um, they have a lot of money, right? And we have all these charities that we work with—but they don’t want to go in deep and help people around us, who really need help. I mean, everyone needs help, I’m not saying they don’t, but what about those that no one is fighting for? That’s where I think we should be. Often times, my father’s philanthropic work feels like lip service. I want to do more. And I want to be there helping, doing the work, not just writing a check—but they won’t let me. And it’s tiring you know? I’m a grown man with means to help. Let me help!”

Jack smiled, seeing Bitty so honest and fired up, wanting to change the world. Needing to change the world. 

“That sound incredible, Bitty.”

Bitty’s face pinked. 

“It’s really not. It’s our responsibility, and I want to do what’s right,” he said simply. “But it’s exhausting being second guessed all the time, being told I don’t really know what I’m doing, being looked through—like I’m some ornate window that people glance at but no one really bothers to take a good look. _Really_ look at it.”

He turned and watched the crowd below as he leaned on his elbows against the balcony, hands dangling gently over the railing. 

Jack moved closer to Bitty, and mimicked his stance. His hands also dangled over the ledge—their forearms just touching.

“I want to be of real use, and taken seriously. I want to make decisions, my own decision, that mean something. That’s all I want,” Bitty said. “I've never told anyone that… not sure why I just told you, but I felt I could. I could and you wouldn't think any less of me.”

“I would never,” Jack said. 

Bitty offered him a soft glance in return then continued to examine the world below. He smiled and exhaled shakily. Once again, Jack could feel a connection, and it was all at once amazing and terrifying. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Jack asked.

Bitty nodded.

“Okay, I just have to make a quick stop. Meet me outside?” Jack asked.

Early on, Jack had made up his mind there was no story to write. He liked Bitty far too much to do that to him. Now, however, Jack was faced with a different dilemma. He liked Bitty far too much. _Merde_.

They left the Keats-Shelley House and were met by throngs of people who had now convened on the Spanish Steps. Eric looked over his pamphlet from the house and smiled as he put it in his back pocket.

“Do you want some iced coffee?” Eric asked.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Jack said.

“Perfect. I know just the place. I mean, I’ve never been there—but you’ll like it. Promise.”

Eric filled the empty spaces with chatter that Jack seemed to enjoy as they walked away from the Spanish Steps and toward the Piazza de Spagna. Soon, he was coaxing more and more conversation out of Jack again. Eric could tell that Jack was somewhat introverted, so he loved being able to get Jack to open up.

“Bagels? Really, that’s your most popular baked goods?” Eric asked intrigued.

Eric was having the best day and didn’t want it to end or anything to interfere with it in any way. Jack was in the middle of an entire ode to Montreal bagels when they walked past a newsstand heavy with fashion and gossip magazines—and there sat two entire rows of _Chi_ and _Oggi_ magazines. Eric froze as he saw his mother and father's faces plastered on the cover of one, while he was on the other. 

Jack was about to turn around to look at whatever Eric was gawking at, when Eric quickly pulled Jack away by the hand, and then somehow, the two found themselves holding hands.

“Oh,” Jack said as he paused and looked at their fingers interlaced. 

Eric swallowed, eyes wide, as he wondered what Jack would do next. He hadn’t meant to take Jack by the hand… it just sort of happened. Sure, they had been touching hands all day, here and there, but this was different. Jack kept walking as if it were the most natural thing in the world, their arms swinging gently to and fro.

“So Montreal bagels are smaller, thinner, sweeter, and denser—but they have a larger hole…”

Eric was surprised at how natural it felt to be holding Jack’s hand. He felt a shift had occurred, something tangible and thick now stood between them, and while Jack nervously blathered on about wood-fired ovens and malt, all Eric wanted to do was explore what it all meant.

“Okay, the Keats-Shelley House pamphlet had mentioned this place, and here it is!” Eric said as the arrived at Antico Caffè Greco. “Liszt, Bryon, Ibsen, Mendelssohn, and of course, Keats have all come here. Come on.”

They entered the café and were immediately surrounded by velvet, gold, and sweet smells. Queen Anne chairs and banquettes filled the café as large oil paintings and ornately carved bookcases decorated the red brocade walls. They were seated at a small table, nestled against a corner. An enormous mirror hung behind them.

“Wow, this seems like the perfect place for people watching,” Eric said as he and Jack settled into a very small red velvet banquette. 

“Would you like some wine?” Jack asked. 

“Sure.”

After their panna cotta, pistachio ricotta cake, and two glasses of pinot gris arrived, Jack smiled and Eric felt Jack’s foot carefully nudge up against his. Whether it was intentional or not, he wasn’t sure but Eric found himself feeling giddy.

Again, their conversation was effortless and Eric grew increasingly charmed by Jack. Jack, who for all intents and purposes, was a sweet, intellectual, handsome dork. Between glances which grew less shy, they continued sharing their lives—as much as they could. They talked about parental expectations, about their childhoods, they made funny jokes, and Jack appeared to open up as much as Eric did. So Eric did what he wanted and took Jack’s hand once again.

Jack placed his over Eric’s and rubbed small circles on his hand with his thumb.

“Earlier today when you said you’ve never had any sleepovers…”

“Yes?”

“Was that really the truth?”

“Again, not your business, but why would I lie?”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Most roy--I mean, men your age have no problems sowing their oats, but you’re not like most guys your age, are you?”

“I told you, I’m very selective. When I give my heart to someone and give _myself_ to someone, it’s going to be with someone I feel safe and comfortable with. Someone who feels safe and comfortable with me.”

Jack smiled. “I didn’t mean to judge or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s refreshing. Really.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Eric took a sip of his wine and smiled at Jack. “So, tell me about your writing.”

“My writing?” Jack asked looking taken aback.

“Yes, Knight said you were a fiction writer in college but gave it up?”

“Euh, yeah. I wanted to be a writer—fiction—and I started out as an English major. But then I realized my father wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Did he say so?”

Jack shrugged. “Not in so many words, but he didn’t have to.”

“But…”

“But nothing, so I changed my major and followed in his footsteps.”

“Is that really what you wanted though?” Eric asked.

“I like what I do,” Jack said simply.

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes, but I’m too busy now. And it’s too late.”

“Jack, believe me, I understand all about family expectations, you have no idea how much I do, but if you want to write you should!”

“Bitty, it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? You can do whatever you want, Jack. You have that freedom, you’re so lucky, and you can’t even appreciate it,” Eric pleaded.

“It’s not that simple!” Jack countered.

“Well, I've been sheltered my whole life, and not by choice, whereas I think you've self-censored, sheltered and kept yourself in a tidy little box a big portion of your life because it’s easier,” Eric cried out.

The people around turned to look at them.

Jack sighed.

“I don’t want to argue,” Eric said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, neither do I,” Jack replied as he squeezed Eric’s hand. “Neither do I.”

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

They both smiled.

“Okay, moving on.” Eric exhaled with a whoosh, then took a bite of his cake and asked Jack, “So why do you like Keats so much?”

Jack blushed. “It’s kind of silly.” 

“Tell me.”

“My grandmother used to read his poetry to me at bedtime when I was a kid. Later in high school, I went through a Romantics phase.” His blush deepened. “It wasn’t until I was in undergrad that I contemplated his work academically.”

“I think you’re just a romantic softie, and that’s what’s really going on here,” Eric teased.

“Imagine how much more he would have written had he lived longer? Happy and in love…” Jack laughed. “Maybe I am a softie. Which reminds me, I have something for you.”

“For me? When did you buy me something, you sweetheart?”

Jack licked his fork and put it down.

“It’s nothing,” he said as he wiped his mouth. “It’s just something I got at the Keats house gift shop.” He pulled a very small paperback from his back pocket.

“A Bright Star in Love: a Selection of Keats’ Letters to Fanny Brawne,” Eric read the title as he looked at the cover. “Jack, this is very kind. Thank you so much.”

He reached over a gave Jack’s hand a quick squeeze. He then began to leaf through it and flipped back to the introduction.

“You don’t have to look at it now,” Jack said as he stared down at his plate. Eric could see how red his ears were.

“‘Nothing strikes me so forcibly with a sense of the ridiculous as love. A man in love I do think cuts the sorriest figure in the world.’ John Keats, in a letter to his brother George,” Eric read. “Well, it seems like he changed his tune, huh?”

“Keats was a happily self-proclaimed bachelor and had sworn off love, and met Fanny Brawne. I guess all bets were off, then.”

Eric laughed. He then thought about it and asked Jack, “Do you think he was really in love from the start? Is love at first sight real?”

“I think when you finally meet the right person, anything is possible,” Jack said. “I think,” he continued, “part of the reason that Keats held off on love for so long was that he knew it would turn his world upside down. It was self-preservation. He seemed like a deep feeling kind of guy, and to allow himself to fall into that… well, it would be all at once the end of the world as well as the beginning.”

The two sat wordlessly for a few moments, each one studying the other. 

Eric’s heart clenched because he knew he had to put a stop to whatever he was starting to feel for Jack. After today, he’d never see him again so what was the point in feeling such a strong connection with him? Eric finally broke their gaze. 

He opened a page in the room at random and read, “I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.” 

He huffed out a breath of air and ran his fingers through his hair. Of all the lines to read in the entire damn book. 

The two finished their wine quietly and didn’t speak for several minutes.


	6. The End of the Fairy Tale

“My day is almost over,” Eric said. He fiddled with his shirt collar. It was true but it didn’t make the fact any more acceptable. “Hey, do you want to go dancing?” he blurted out.

Jack looked confused for a moment then laughed. “What?”

“I've heard of a wonderful place for dancing on a boat.”

“Oh, you mean the barges down by Saint Angelo?”

“That’s it. A friend told me about it and we could go over there. What do you think?”

“A friend?” Jack asked. 

“Yeah, a friend.”

“Sure, we could do that. Let me text Knight and maybe he and Larissa can join us.”

“I’ll end the evening with some dancing, and then at midnight I'll turn into a pumpkin and drive away wearing only one glass slipper.”

Jack smiled, but Eric noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well, then let’s go,” he said as he got up and began to walk away from Jack—though he had no idea where he was supposed to be going. He was too afraid to turn back and look at Jack.

Eric heard the music before he saw the crowd. They approached the dock and walked down the steps to pay their cover charge. This was his first ever dance party that did not involve curtsies, bows or a damn tuxedo, and he couldn’t wait. 

The _untz-untz-untz_ of the music’s bass flowed through the air and Eric was practically vibrating out of his skin. The only time he’d danced to the music that was playing was in his bathroom, the only place he could truly be alone.

Jack paid for their admission and looked tense as he stood next to Eric.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Eric asked grinning.

“I’m not really a dance club kind of guy, you know?”

Eric smiled. “I never would have guessed. Come on, I’ll take care of you. Besides, you’re on a barge and it’s outdoors so you have way more breathing room. You can always go overboard if you need a quick escape.”

“Haha.”

They walked out onto the makeshift dance floor and began dancing—and Jack had some moves, much to Eric’s surprise. Jack offered him a teasing little smile. He seemed to be flirting again, but Eric couldn’t tell if it was real, or just Jack being silly.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, as I live and breathe,” Knight called out when he appeared beside them. “You are a veritable dance club Baryshnikov!”

Jack blushed as he turned to face Knight who had a petite woman standing next to him.

“Oh, hey, man,” Jack said as he leaned in for a hug. “Duan, I see you gave this loser a shot.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Every dog has their day or something, right?” 

She winked at Knight and he grinned nervously.

“Bitty, this is Larissa,” Knight said as he looked at her and beamed.

Eric smiled; it was nice seeing Knight genuinely undone.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. 

Eric smiled. “How do you do?”

She looked at him and said, “Has anyone ever told you, you’re a dead ringer for--”

Jack, for some reason, rudely interrupted. “So how did you manage to get into this guy’s grip?”

“He asked and looked so damn earnest, I said yes to the nerd.”

Jack and Eric both laughed, and Eric wondered if this is what a normal night out with friends—and an actual date night—would feel like? He looked at Jack who chatted with Knight and then it struck him that yes, he absolutely wanted that evening to be a date. Jack turned to look at him with an open expression and smiled softly. Eric’s eyes flew wide open because it occurred to him that perhaps the feeling was definitely mutual? It was one thing to playfully hold hands, or whatever, but this… this seemed more absolute. Oh lord.

“Come on, let’s cut a rug,” Jack said as he took Eric’s hand again. 

Eric smiled and then threw his head back in laughter when Jack spun them around. He then he noticed a large figure next to them.

“It’s you!” 

Eric looked up and there stood Alexei with an enormous smile plastered on his face. Jack and Bitty separated abruptly.

“Alexei! Yes, hi! Hello!”

“I thought maybe you don’t come. I was looking and looking and here you are.”

“An old friend?” Jack asked.

Eric laughed. “Yes! He cut my hair earlier today. Jack this is Alexei. Alexei, Jack.”

The two shook hands and then all three stared at each other awkwardly.

“Let's have a drink at the bar,” Eric finally said. 

Jack took his hand and walked him over to the bar, which Eric found rather interesting.

“I look for you for long time and I’m thinking maybe you don’t come,” Alexei said. 

“No, no. I wasn’t sure I would be able to, but here I am,” Eric said smiling.

“Do you want to dance?” Alexei asked.

Eric turned to look at Jack. 

“It’s fine. I’m just going to stand here and talk to Knight.” He then reached out and pulled Knight—who had been leaning against the bar trying to woo Larissa—closer.

Eric smiled as Alexei offered his hand and the two began to dance to a fast song. Jack was chatting with Knight and Larissa but simultaneously gave Alexei some major side eye, which Eric found _extremely_ interesting. And when Alexei took Eric into his arms and playfully dipped him, Eric laughed and noticed Knight take a picture of them as Jack frowned.

When the song ended, the two returned to the bar.

“Will you save next dance for me?” Alexei asked.

Jack quickly jumped in. “I’m afraid this one is taken.”

Suddenly, “Halo” by Beyoncé came in over the speakers.

“Oh…” Eric said as he stepped away from Jack. “We, uh, could sit this one out.”

Jack’s gaze turned dangerously tender and he shook his head. “No, that’s okay.”

The two began to slow dance and in that moment, Eric felt as though he were living his own version of every rom-com he’d ever seen. Eric rested his head on Jack’s shoulder, his eyes fluttered shut and he couldn’t help but smile. He looked up at Jack.

“Hello,” he said as the two continued to look at one another.

“Hello,” Jack said with the softest smile Eric had yet seen. 

And as Eric rested his head on Jack’s chest, he could have sworn the stars above became fuzzy, the music dreamier, and he was in the arms of the most beautiful man he’d ever met. Eric felt dizzy as Jack pulled him closer, ever so slightly. He looked up and locked eyes with Jack, and Eric could see Jack’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

“Bitty…” Jack began, “I--I really have to tell you something.”

“Yes? What is it?”

Jack was about to respond when Eric looked off to the side and noticed them. Two men in black suits stood in a corner, watching intently over the people. One of the two nodded at someone and Eric followed their line of sight to see three more men dressed just like him standing at the opposite end of the barge. 

One of the men locked eyes with Eric and Eric froze. He began to pull Jack toward the bar.

“We need to get out of here,” he hissed.

Jack turned to look around. “Why? Bitty, what’s going on?”

Eric looked back toward the dock and could see several black cars pull up with men climbing out, rushing over to the steps. Thank god they were anything but subtle.

“Get Knight and Larissa! We have to go, please!” Bitty said frantically. 

Jack nodded as he ran to get them. Just then, one of the secret service men grabbed Bitty by the wrist.

“Your Highness,” he said as he squeezed.

Bitty looked at him sharply and tried to pull away but the man held him with a death grip. 

“You'll walk quietly towards the entrance. There is a car waiting, please get in. Your Highness, please.”

Bitty did the only thing he could think to do. He called out loudly, “You--you've made a mistake! Let me go. Will you let me go? Help! Harasser!”

“What are you doing to my friend?!” Alexei called as he picked up the man and tossed him aside like a ragdoll. 

At that moment, three other agents came in and tackled Alexei while another one began dragging Eric away from the barge.

It was all a big blur from there, Jack punched one man, Shitty helped Alexei, and suddenly Larissa appeared out of nowhere and smashed a wine bottle over another agent’s head (causing Knight to practically swoon.) 

How the rest of the crowd became involved, Bitty was not sure but people—who Bitty could only presume were Alexei’s friends—began to get in on the melee.

“Snowy! Poots! Help!” Alexei cried out as he flung agents left and right.

Now if there was one thing Prince Eric was known for was his quiet demeanor and compassion. Well at that moment, his friend Alexei needed help, so Bitty took someone’s guitar that was sitting on a table and did the only thing he could do. 

“Leave my friend ALONE!” He shouted as he smashed the guitar over the head of an agent who had Alexei in a headlock.

“Fuck, that was beaut of a hit!” Knight shouted as he waved his camera around. “I missed it! Bitty, hit him again!”

Bitty looked at Knight with confusion then nodded and hit the agent over the head again. Knight’s laughter somehow rang out over everything else.

Mayhem broke out everywhere as the dancers dispersed; a fist thrown here, a chair tossed there. The scene of chaos continued as Jack, Larissa, and Alexei were laying into the secret service men. And just as Bitty was cornered at one end of the barge by another agent, he could see Jack running toward them, making Bitty feel brave. His night couldn’t be over just yet. It couldn’t, so Bitty punched the agent and then pushed him over the barge. Down, down, down, he fell into the river San Angelo with a great splash.

“Knight!” Jack shouted. “Your keys!”

Knight tossed his keys to Jack and yelled out, “Be safe, brah!”

Jack dodged and dove to make his way back to Bitty and they were instantly surrounded by two more secret service men.

“Subtle! How very subtle!” Bitty shouted at them. “Could you possibly draw more attention?!”

Jack took him by the hand and gave him a quick nod, and in that instant, Bitty knew exactly what he was saying. The two held hands as they jumped overboard, the chilly waters of the San Angelo welcoming their folly.

In the distance, as Jack and Bitty quietly swam to shore, Alexei could be heard shouting from the barge, “Best night ever!” as the sound of police sirens loomed close by.

The two remained quiet as they rode in Knight’s Fiat back to Jack’s studio. Jack finally cleared his throat and Bitty turned to look at him. Each one, soaking wet, a little sore, and instantly giggly. They broke into a full on hysterical laughter, and Jack spoke.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“Fine,” he chuckled.

They laughed again and came to a red light. Jack looked at Bitty and grinned.

“You were really great back there,” he said with a soft smile.

“You weren't so bad yourself,” Bitty replied shyly.

Bitty and Jack gazed into each other’s eyes, and Jack was suddenly leaning across—hesitating halfway but Bitty began to close the distance between them. And just as Bitty’s eyes fluttered shut and Jack leaned in closer, the car behind them honked angrily as the light changed to red.

“We, euh, better get you dried off,” Jack said as he smiled shyly.

He then reached over and took Bitty’s hand lacing their fingers together. It felt so natural and right. And when Jack held Bitty’s hand up to his face and pressed a kiss to it, Bitty thought he might die. 

Neither of them said a word the rest of the trip back. Whatever Jack was thinking, Bitty had no clue. Bitty’s heart, meanwhile, was jackrabbiting in his chest. What exactly would happen when they reached Jack’s place. What would they say? And more importantly, what would they do?

They finally pulled up in front of Villa Marguta fifty-one, and the two sat silently in the car for a moment. 

“I would really like you to come up with me,” Jack finally said, looking down at their hands, still intertwined. Bitty understood what he was actually trying to say.

“I’d like that,” Bitty said as he lifted Jack’s chin so that he’d look at Bitty.

Jack smiled and nodded.

They went through the courtyard and as Jack unlocked the door, Bitty pressed his head against Jack’s shoulder and he could have sworn he felt Jack shiver.

Once inside, Jack turned on the light and the two stood close to one another. Not saying a word, but they each could see the other’s nervous rapid breathing.

“Hmm, if we had more time I’d bake you something,” Bitty said offering Jack a sweet smile, trying to break the tension.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, so you could taste how good of a baker I am.”

“All good stuff, I bet.”

“All good stuff.”

“Hello,” Jack said again.

“Hello,” Bitty replied.

Bitty erased the small distance between them. 

“Please, hold me,” he said in a breathy whisper.

“Always,” Jack replied.

Bitty buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck and pressed his lips against Jack’s skin. He tasted of salt and the river, and it was intoxicating. Jack turned to look at Bitty who was wide-eyed and silent. Bitty felt his eyes flutter shut once again as Jack cupped his face and dipped down to kiss him.

Bitty melted into the kiss and what he felt right then and there in Jack’s arms was more freeing and beautiful than anything else he’d ever experienced. It felt like coming home, and finally being allowed to be who he truly was.

They kissed for several minutes—could have been five, could have been twenty—neither was sure. All Bitty knew was that there was nowhere else in the entire world he’d rather be.

“Do you… euh… want to go to the…” Jack gestured toward the bed and Bitty smiled.

“Yes.”

Jack lifted Bitty into his arms and then gently lowered him onto the bed. He pressed tender kisses onto Bitty’s face and neck. Bitty, in turn, moaned softly and wrapped his arms around Jack, each one letting themselves melt into the other. 

“Oh my god,” Bitty whispered as they parted and took a breath. He pressed his forehead against Jack, and Jack held him tighter. 

“Do you want to stop?” Jack asked. 

All Bitty could do was shake his head. Things escalated quickly after that. Bitty straddled Jack’s lap and pulled his damp t-shirt up and over Jack’s head. He flung it to the corner of the room. Jack continued to frantically kiss Bitty as he unbuttoned Bitty’s shirt and then pressed soft, sucking kisses to Bitty’s neck.

“You’re amazing,” Jack said in between kisses.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Bitty said with the softest of laughs. 

As they continued with their push and pull, they laid back in the bed once again and Bitty wrapped his legs around Jack’s thighs; he pushed upward as Jack met his thrusts with equal vigor. Jack chased after Bitty’s lips and pressed him closer, not letting go. They kissed some more, and all Bitty could think, all he could feel was _yes, yes, yes_. 

Then, Jack paused. He paused and slowly pulled away from Bitty.

“What... what is it?” Bitty asked breathlessly.

“I--I can’t,” Jack said quietly.

“Why,” Bitty asked. “Why not?”

He could hear himself practically pleading. He wanted this, he wanted to give himself to Jack. Jack pulled away some more.

“If… if I sleep with you,” Jack said as he looked into Bitty’s eyes, his face soft and warm, “I’ll never be able to let you go.”

“But…” 

Bitty sat there bewildered, and then the gravity of what Jack said truly hit him. In that instant, he knew he’d feel the exact same way. And there was more at stake than just Bitty or Jack; more than Jack could ever imagine. Bitty would break Jack’s heart. There was no way around it. He couldn’t do that to Jack. He just couldn’t no matter how much he wanted Jack—wanted to be with Jack. It really wasn’t fair to either of them.

The two exchanged a sad gaze.

“Self-preservation,” Bitty said. 

Jack smiled ruefully. “Exactly.”

“I should go,” Bitty said.

Jack nodded silently. Bitty flung himself into Jack’s arms. The two tangled together tightly, then Jack let go. He rose from the bed, gathered his clothes, entered the bathroom, the door shut with a click. Bitty sat on the bed and composed himself, knowing that when Jack would come back out they would have to leave, and then he’d never see him again.

Bitty slowly began to dress.


	7. By All Means, Rome

“Stop at the next corner, please.” 

“Okay,” Jack said, visibly shaken.

He pulled over about half a block from the Embassy.

“Right here?” he asked.

“This is fine, thank you.”

“Bitty… there’s something I want to tell. I _need_ to tell you.”

“No. No, please don’t. I don’t think I have the strength to hear whatever you’re going to say.”

Jack took Bitty’s hand. 

“If it’s some grand declaration I may not be strong enough to go,” Bitty said as he squeezed Jack’s hand, “and if it’s the opposite… well.”

“But I--” Jack began.

Bitty touched his finger to Jack’s mouth and softly shook his head. Jack nodded and looked at Bitty with tear-filled eyes.

“I have to leave you now. I’m going to get out of the car, walk to that corner over there…”

Bitty looked out the car window, wondering if there was any possible way—anything he could do, but he knew it was useless.

“I’m going to walk to that corner, and then turn, and you--you must stay in the car and drive away.”

Jack nodded and didn’t say a word.

“Just drive away and leave me, as I leave you, Jack. Promise?”

“Okay,” Jack said solemnly. “Okay.”

Jack pulled Bitty into his arms one more time, and they shared one last kiss. They managed a smile and then Bitty looked down, unable to say the inevitable. Turning away from Jack, he opened the door and exited. 

Without looking back Bitty took off down the street, his walk turned into a run. And he didn’t dare look back because he knew that if he did, he might not ever return to his old life.

“Your Royal Highness, twenty-four hours… they can't all be blank,” William pleaded.

Eric stood his ground as he was grilled by Atley, Hall, and William. 

“They are not,” he said simply.

“But what explanation am I to offer Their Majesties?” Hall asked exasperated. 

Eric strolled around the room once and stood by the couch. He placed his hands on the back of it, and replied, “I was indisposed. I am better. No more, no less.”

Atley and Hall exchanged a worried glance.

“Sir, you must appreciate that I have my duty to perform, just as Your Royal Highness has his duty--”

Eric walked up to Hall and glared. 

“I am well aware of my duties, General. Well aware. If I weren't here who would do the investitures? Who would go on tours? Who I would narrate our goodwill story?”

“But--”

Eric raised a hand and continued as he challenged Hall. 

“I know what has been expected of me from the moment of my birth, for king and country. Believe me, I am well aware of my duties for if I weren’t, I would not have come back here tonight or ever.” 

Eric looked at all three of them, gave them a quick nod and left the room without another word

“Open up! It’s me! Are you two decent?” Knight asked as he pounded on Jack’s door. “I just need my car, dude.”

Jack wiped his face and exhaled shakily as he walked toward the door. He opened it and Knight’s face fell when he saw Jack’s.

“What the hell happened? Where’s Bitty?” Knight asked as he took Jack by the hand and led him back inside. “Come on, tell Uncle B all about it.”

“He’s gone,” Jack said as he began to tear up in earnest.

Knight looked at him wild-eyed and speechless.

“Jesus fuck, Jack,” Knight said as he pulled Jack onto the couch. “Did you tell him the truth?” he asked gently.

Jack shook his head. He felt as though he had a boulder on his chest. The complete and utter euphoria he had felt earlier with Bitty was now replaced by this dark void, and he felt as though he’d never get rid of it.

“No,” Jack said as he shook his head. “I was going to, but… I didn’t. He’s gone, Shitty.”

“There he is… there’s the old Jack,” Knight smiled gently. “You know, you haven’t called me that since college.”

Jack shrugged helplessly. “I’ll never see him again, and I’ll never be able to tell him how I feel.”

“Brah… how do you feel?”

Jack plopped back onto the couch and covered his face with a cushion.

“I think I’m in love with him,” he said from behind the cushion.

“Excellent!” Knight called out.

“No, not excellent. Our relationship? It’s impossible,” Jack said. “He’s gone. So what, now I’m left pining and miserable? I was better off without love, thank you very much.”

Knight sighed. “Yeah, well, better to have loved and lost and all that jazz?”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jack said as he tossed the cushion halfway across the room.

“You know, today was the first day in a long time where I saw you having fun and being the real you,” Knight said. “That petite prince thawed out the Press Robot and made you human again, man.”

“And for what?” Jack said helplessly. “He’s gone.”

“For what? For you, Jacko. For _you_.”

Knight opened his arms and reached for Jack.

“Come on, man. Bring it in, bring it in…”

Jack melted into Knight’s hug and sniffled.

The next morning, Jack awoke to the sound of various texts coming in. Bleary-eyed, he looked around and noticed Knight was asleep on the opposite end of the couch. He got up and unlocked his phone.

 **Murray** : _The Prince is feeling better. There’s a brief press interview this morning at 10 at the Embassy. Be there and take Knight with you._

Jack swallowed dryly as he reread the text.

Eric sat at the vanity in his bedroom and looked in the mirror. He adjusted his bow tie and smoothed back his hair, which was combed neatly back with pomade. His bags were already packed as they had another city to move onto.

That morning, during breakfast, everyone had tried to talk to Eric but he wanted no part of that. He was tired. He was tired and just wanted to be left alone. He thought of Jack and what he might be doing at that moment. He realized he hadn’t even gotten Jack’s last name. There he was foolish enough to fall in love with someone whose last name he didn’t even know. It didn’t matter, because he’d never see him again anyway.

A knock on the door roused him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“They’re ready for you, Your Highness,” a voice came from the other side.

“Thank you.”

Eric inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He exhaled and counted to ten.

“All right, Prince Eric, let’s get Rome over with,” he said to himself.

He was led to the grand ballroom and readied himself for the questions that were coming his way. The usual questions with his usual canned spiel—smiles and happy faces, even though inside he wanted to die.

Eric could hear the master of ceremonies as he stood behind the thick velvet curtain which hung over the doorway. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please approach.” 

Eric peeked and saw the crowd move closer to the velvet rope. The master of ceremonies raised his hand and the crowd quieted. 

“His Royal Highness, Prince Eric,” he said in English and then again in Italian.

He stood sideways and Eric walked out flanked by the General, the Countess and the Italian Ambassador.

“Your Royal Highness, the ladies and gentlemen of the Press.”

Eric nodded and acknowledged them. His eyes swept across the front row and it was then that he saw him. There stood Jack with Knight right next to him. Eric felt his eyes grow wide and his stomach drop. He swallowed down whatever it was he was feeling and stood perfectly still.

The Ambassador motioned to a chair with his hand, and Eric sat down gracefully. His eyes 100% still on Jack. Jack looked at Eric and nodded ever so slightly as Knight discreetly waved at him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, His Royal Highness will now answer your questions.”

The chief of correspondents spoke, “I believe at the outset, Your Highness, that I should express the pleasure of all of us at your recovery from the recent illness.”

“Thank you,” Eric replied as he finally looked away from Jack. 

“Does Your Highness believe that a Federation would be a possible solution to Europe's economic problems?” one reporter asked.

“I am in favor of any measure which would lead to closer cooperation in Europe,” Eric answered.

“And what, in the opinion of Your Highness, is the outlook for friendship among nations?”

“I have every faith in it,” he said as he looked at Jack, “as I have faith in relations between people.”

Jack raised his hand and said, “May I say, speaking from my own press service, we believe that Your Highness's faith will not be unjustified.”

Eric smiled.

“Which of the cities visited did Your Highness enjoy the most?” someone asked.

Eric readied himself for his usual response and began. “Each in its own way... each in its own way was… unforgettable. It would be difficult to--” He paused and his face softened. “Rome, by all means, Rome.”

The press stirred and murmured, unaccustomed to such undiplomatic answers from the Prince.

“I will cherish my visit here, in memory, as long as I live.”

“Despite your indisposition, Your Highness?” a correspondent asked.

“Yes, despite that.”

“Photographs may now be taken,” the master of ceremonies announced.

The photographers gathered from both sides from under the rope, jostling before the steps as they photograph him. Eric stood up and stepped forward, just then Knight moved in closer and took a picture with his Leica. He then winked at Eric.

The last of the photographers retreated behind the rope, and Knight rejoined Jack.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you very much,” Hall announced.

Eric figured it was now or never. He needed to know, needed to touch him and see him up close one last time.

“I would now like to meet some of the ladies and gentlemen of the Press,” he said as Hall and Atley looked at him with confusion.

Eric walked down the steps and paused to mouth the word _alone_ to Hall and Atley.

Eric began at the end of the front row and worked his way down.

“Alex Rodriguez, Chicago Tribune.”

“I'm so happy to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez.”

“Jean-Luc Guillaume, Le Monde.”

“ _Enchanté_ ,” Eric said as he shook his hand.

“Cortes Cavanias, BBC Mundo.” 

“ _Encantando_ ,” Eric replied. 

Down and down he went until he was met face to face with Knight.

“BS Knight, Associated Press Photo,” he said as he offered his hand and a 1,000-watt smile.

“How do you do?”

Knight reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flash drive.

“Er, may I present Your Highness with some commemorative photos of your visit to Rome? Just a few snapshots of a regular day.”

Knight looked at Eric with such warm enthusiasm, Eric suppressed a smile as he took the flash drive and placed it in his pocket.

“Thank you so very much.”

He then paused before he turned to look at Jack.

“Jack Zimmermann, Associated Press.”

The two shook hands and Jack squeezed it tightly, although his expression remained neutral.

“So happy to have met you, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack opened his mouth and it appeared as though he were going to speak, but then stood down.

Eric continued on to the next correspondent. Reaching the last journalists, he turned to walk up slowly to the steps and turned to face the press who applauded him. 

Eric smiled, a blinding smile, just for Jack then gracefully exited the room without looking back. He couldn’t look back.

**+**

The press bustled to leave, everyone in a hurry save for Jack who still stood by the ropes willing Eric to come back, maybe he’d peek out one more time. Just once.

Shitty looked at Jack and gently rubbed his arm.

“Are you okay?” Shitty asked quietly.

Jack nodded as he looked at the empty spot where the Prince was last. Finally, Jack turned slowly to leave as the crowd disappeared. Alone but for the guards lining the room he walked slowly to the exit; hands in pockets, leaving the stage behind him. The huge room was silent except for his slow footsteps. Stopping near the entrance, he paused for a final moment to look down the long hall back at the empty stage. Jack turned and walked away.


	8. I Don’t Know How to Say Goodbye

That night, Eric waited until he was alone in his suite among the Monegasque Royal Residences to fully contemplate what had happened that day—hell, what had happened the last 24 hours. He sat at the window seat and took in the view below. So different than his view in Rome; royal guards stood their posts outside. Sleeping in a castle was quite different than being in an embassy. 

There, he had a stark and steady reminder of what his life as a royal truly meant. No freedom, no privacy, constant scrutiny, not just from the public and press but often from his own father, which was truly the most frustrating and heartbreaking part of it all. Eric longed for this tour to be over so he could be in his own bedroom, his own kitchen.

He opened his laptop and inserted Knight’s flash drive.

Inside were two files, one a folder marked _Regular Day_ , the other a document labeled _Read Me_.

He double-clicked the folder and saw it was filled with photos of his day with Knight and Jack.

Eric smiled as he scrolled through them all: Eric sipping on champagne at the outdoor cafe, him and Jack leaning in and smiling for a photo, Eric a blur on a Vespa. He laughed as he zoomed in and saw the shocked expressions of those around him. His stopped on the picture Jack and him embracing at the Mouth of Truth. How they laughed and clung to each other. Photo after photo—there was even a photo of Eric hitting an agent with a guitar, and Eric found himself smiling. What a lovely day it had been.

Or was it? He had no idea what to think of anything anymore. Could he trust Knight not to share these images?

He clicked on the document.

> _Bitty,_
> 
> _I was pacing for a good thirty minutes wondering how to even begin this letter. So here it goes. Hello, my name is Jack Zimmermann and I’m a journalist. I write for the Associated Press and have lived in Rome for the last three years. The other night, I was walking home and came upon the most adorable man I’d ever seen practically asleep on a bench. I should have just let him be and been on my way, but something told me to stop and talk to him. Soon, there you were asleep in my bed._
> 
> _The next morning, I found out who you were and my first instinct as a reporter was to try to get you to open up and write a story about you. Not my finest moment but early on, I realized I did want you to open up, not because I wanted a scoop. I no longer wanted that, what I wanted was to get to know you. You. I wanted to know everything about you._
> 
> _I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re brave because in spite of everything you have to live through, day-to-day, you still try to be true to yourself. You’re kind, because not once did you say or do anything malicious toward anyone and I see the work you’re trying to do. You have so much poise and grace, and on top of all that, you’re you… adorable, beautiful, funny you._
> 
> _You called me out on stuff when no one else has and you made me see that I could do more, if only I were brave like you. If only I trusted myself, like you. Yesterday might have been your special day, but you made me take my very own Roman holiday, too. With you, I saw that life could still be filled with laughter and wonder and “what ifs?”_
> 
> _I’m sorry I wasn’t upfront with you from the start. If I had to do it all over again, I’d tell you right away, but I’m not sorry for the day we spent together. I could never give that up or regret it._
> 
> _Don’t worry about anything you said or did that day or the photos Knight took. Those are for you and you alone. And that day is for the two of us to remember, forever._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Jack_
> 
> _P.S. I think I’m in love with you. I know it’s early and an incredibly moot point, but I feel it. Crisse, I really do. I know nothing could ever come of this, but I just had to tell you how I felt. I’ll think of you. Always._

Embedded at the end of the letter was the photo Jack had taken of him at the Keats-Shelley House terrace. The sun was just beginning to set, a brilliant orangey-pink light shone on him as his hair whipped around in the wind. His expression was open and unguarded. He looked so comfortable in his own skin. He was beautiful and accepted.

A tear rolled down his face as he began to reread the letter.

The next few weeks for Jack were, more or less, a blur. He worked on autopilot as his days were built on work and home, work and home, without room for anything—or anyone—else.

“Brah, you have to get out there and try to get out of your funk,” Shitty pleaded. “We’ve missed you at the last three poker games.”

Jack sat on his couch and shrugged as he shoveled in some more spaghetti.

“I’ve given up making excuses for you,” Shitty said. “Everyone is asking what’s wrong?”

“So then don’t,” Jack responded dryly. “Don’t make excuses. I’m not asking you to.”

Shitty looked at Jack and sighed. “You have some sauce, right there,” he said as he motioned at Jack’s entire face. 

Jack ate another forkful and didn’t bother wiping his mouth.

“Come on, let’s go out. It’s Saturday! We have the day off. Let’s air you out, Jackabelle. You smell like stale self-pity with a hint of asshole. Like, literally, brah...”

Jack sighed and finished chewing. He looked out at the bright blue sky and put his bowl down on the coffee table. 

“Fine.”

Shitty and Jack sat at a table at a bar just down the street from the studio. Shitty happily people watched for a while as Jack sat sullenly, arms crossed. The TV from inside the bar was showing the last few minutes of a football game and the noise traveled to the outside seating.

“There, isn’t this nice?” Shitty said as he sipped his beer.

Jack fiddled with his glass of _limonata_ and shrugged again. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Shrugging. It was now his preferred means of communication.

“So, what’s new?” Shitty asked, beer foam on his mustache.

Jack rolled his eyes.

“Come on, buck up, dude. So things didn’t work out, at least you had a day together, right?”

Another shrug.

“Wow, you’re as forthright as—I don’t know a coma patient? A mummy? A rock?”

“What do you want me to say, Shits? That it was all for the best? That it was a life lesson? That I learned I’m capable of love and all that heartbreaking shit?” Jack yelled as he slammed his palm on the table and Shitty’s eyebrows flew up.

“Well, at least you’d be saying something, Rock Lord.”

Jack looked out at the people walking by; couples holding hands, families with their children. He laughed bitterly.

“Right. Something. I gotta go to the bathroom.”

He got up and went inside, and as passed the main bar, the game had apparently ended because there was Bitty—Prince Eric—on the screen. 

“ _Aspettare! Per favore_!” Jack called out as the bartender was about the change the channel. 

The bartender nodded and continued drying a glass with a bar towel.

«His Royal Highness, the Prince Eric of Georgiana gave an interview yesterday where he discussed new plans for his country’s philanthropic work...»

“In the wake of a great influx of giving and philanthropy by various royal families, my goal is focused on finding ways to make advances—if not solve—pressing issues such as gender inequality, LGBTQA+ rights, youth employment, access to education, job creation. That… is where I’m headed,” Eric said steadfastly. “The ties between philanthropy and royalty are often seen as symbolic and largely ineffective—but I am working my hardest to end that view. I’m working with the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation to launch a $100 billion fund focused on…”

Jack watched with awe as Eric spoke. He appeared strong and sure of himself. He looked like he did back on that barge on the river, ready to take life by the horns.

“I often complained about not being able to make the smallest of choices in my life, feeling annoyed and impotent, but soon I realized that I do have the power of choice, choices that can affect so many people. I decided to be proactive and do things that matter.” Eric smiled as the interview clip ended.

«This is quite a departure for the young Prince, who up until now, had preferred to remain reticent about more serious issues and conditions in his homeland and neighboring countries. He’s been more politically and socially active the last few weeks than we’ve seen him in years. We’re excited to see what he will do, if, in fact, he will be true to his word.»

Jack felt himself smile for the first time in weeks. If Bitty could change his life for the better, take control and make a difference in the world, then maybe he could?

“How could you have conducted that interview without clearing it with Royal Communications, first? Hell, son, at least with William?” King Richard asked.

“I didn’t think I had to go into specifics, sir. I let you know I was discussing Georgiana’s philanthropy.”

“Mentioning our royal initiatives is quite different from announcing plans for completely new ones,” the King said with exacerbation. 

“I’m not doing anything untoward,” Eric replied. 

He sat calmly in his father’s office and watched his father pace back and forth. While the BBC interview garnered Eric positive attention, and made the approval of the royal family grow, it hadn’t gone over quite as well with the King.

“I don’t understand how you can be upset by my saying I want to help more people? It’s not a bad thing,” Eric said.

“No, but it’s an incredibly naïve thing, Eric, that could blow up in your face.”

Eric sighed. “I wish you would trust me.”

“Trust you? This isn’t about trust,” the King said. “This is about diplomacy and not stepping on toes. You have no idea--”

“Sir, the work we do is often seen as nothing more than a series of ribbon-cutting ceremonies; ineffectual, all pomp and circumstance in the grand scheme of things.”

The King picked up a folder from his desk and began to leaf through it. Eric would normally have given up at this point, but not now. Not anymore. He was through being ignored or thought of as silly. He soldiered on.

“The reach of our philanthropy is great, yes, but there needs to be more. More aid, more transparency, more of everything. Georgiana needs to be a global humanitarian presence.”

The King flipped through a booklet in the folder.

“Father,” Eric said. “Father! Please, look at me!”

The King looked at Eric as surprise flashed across his face.

“I realize I’m not exactly the type of _heir_ you would have preferred. I know this. I’ve known this my entire life. But…” Eric sighed and cursed himself as he felt a prickle in the back of his throat. “J-just… just tell me you think I’m not messed up. I know you've always thought I was, because I didn't want to play rugby and, and with all the baking and stuff--”

“Eric, that’s not--”

“No, it is. I know that’s how you feel,” he said. His heart rabbitted in his chest. “But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere... and I am your son.”

“I don't know what to do with you sometimes,” the King said quietly. 

Eric could feel the tears begin to well in his eyes. “I want you to tell me I'm not messed up... please.”

The King put down the folder and looked at his son. Really looked at him.

“Please just tell me that you…” Eric said helplessly.

“I never thought that about you. You know that.” 

“No. I don’t. Father, how am I supposed to know what you think when you won’t tell me?”

The King looked up at the ceiling and exhaled. He then turned toward Eric.

“I know that you have a kind heart. You’re like your mother in that regard.” The king rubbed the back of his neck and continued, “And I know that you care about people, and really want to help. I worry about you, of course, I worry about you, Eric. I’m your father.”

Eric swallowed as he felt the tears roll down his face.

“And I appreciate all of your enthusiasm, but there are still some protocols that need to be followed… I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me.”

He walked up to Eric and put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re good, son. You’re good.”

Eric smiled at his father who nodded at him.

“Now tell me about these big plans of yours, and let’s see how we can work on them together.”


	9. You Weren’t So Bad Yourself

“Are you serious?” Murray asked.

“I’m afraid I am.”

“But as a sabbatical or permanently?”

“Permanently,” Jack replied.

He sat in Murray’s office and went in that morning to let him know he was quitting. While he did enjoy reporting, Jack knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while. He was good at his job, damn good, but there had to be more.

He walked out of the AP office with a bankers box in his arms and hope in his heart.

“So are you staying in Rome?” Shitty asked as he lounged in Jack’s bed.

“Yeah, for now, I think. I like it here,” he said from his desk. “Also, if you’re going to rudely shove yourself into my bed, can you at least make sure your pants stay on?”

“Pssh! It’s almost as if you don’t fucking know me,” Shitty said as he waved him off. “Well, I’m glad you’re staying because it would be mega shitty for Shitty if you dragged me out to Rome and then abandoned me here.”

“As if you could leave Larissa,” Jack smirked. 

“What can I say? She adores me! Can’t live without me!”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Shitty.

“Okay, fine. I adore her, can’t live without her. You know how love is--”

Jack’s expression dropped as Shitty frowned and fumbled over his words.

“Shit… sorry. I mean, fuck…”

“Shits, it’s okay,” Jack said. He offered a weak smile. “And yeah, I know how love is,” 

He looked at the framed photo of Eric that sat on his desk. It sat there to remind Jack to be better, to do more, to make Eric proud.

“So what’s your Great _Franco-Canadien_ Novel going to be about?” Shitty asked as he snuggled into Jack’s pillow.

“I have no idea,” Jack shrugged. “And… that’s great.” He smiled brightly at Shitty.

Jack wasn't sure what he was going to write about all he knew was that he wanted to write, _needed_ to write. It was something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

“Look at you, all writerly,” Larissa had said as Jack sat in her living room and smiled while he tapped away at his laptop.

“I’m just typing out junk right now, like that cat in the video. Nothing real, yet.”

“It’ll come when you’re ready, dude,” Larissa said. “When you’re ready.”

“You want some more coffee, Jackaroonie?” Shitty asked from the kitchen door. He wore an apron which read _I Feed All You Fuckers_.

“Nah, I’m good,” Jack said and laughed as Lardo shook her mug at Shitty.

Jack tried not to keep up with Bitty too much, as he felt like it would be kind of creepy behavior on his part. He did, however, find himself sitting at the spots that he had visited with Bitty that one day. He sought inspiration on top of the Spanish Steps, he looked for guidance from Keats himself inside the Keats-Shelley house. He found himself having coffee at the Antico Caffè Greco where maybe the essence of Bitty would guide him somehow.

Jack thought it might work, and then prayed that it would work until he gave up and thought that maybe it wouldn’t. One afternoon, while sitting at Bar San Marcello, Jack watched a family playing across the street. He wondered what their day-to-day life was like. What stories that little boy had heard from his father, who carried him in his arms and whispered sweetnesses into his ear. 

Jack thought about his relationship with his father how much of the trouble and angst between them was real, and how much was imagined by Jack? How much of his father's overzealousness and eagerness was actually just fatherly pride?

That evening, Jack went home and began to write in earnest. He started typing and typing just thoughts little phrases here that poured out of his mind, and he found that he continued working throughout the night and through the very next day, and when he was done, he had 20,000 words before him. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened or how that happened but it was a start and he was happy.

Eric pulled his newsboy cap down low and pushed his sunglasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He walked down the Rue de Malte as he left his quiet little apartment in Canal St-Martin. He’s been in Paris for several months now, and his time there was the closest he had to feeling once again like he did in Rome.

It had taken a lot of convincing to make the King and Queen agree to Eric moving out of the royal palace, but the compromises had been worth it. Six months out of the year, Eric would live there and only if Ransom and Holster were to come back and be his bodyguards. 

“But you have a home here,” the Queen had said.

“How can I grow and become an independent man if I can’t even do the simplest of things that most people my age can do?”

“Such as?” the King asked.

“I don’t know—cook for myself, go grocery shopping, do my own laundry, go out with friends. Work. Just things that I’ve never had a chance to do,” Eric replied.

“Didn’t you have enough of that in uni?” 

“Enough of what, father? My own life?” 

The King sighed. “Suzanne, fancy a trip to Paris?”

Eric was lucky, even though he was recognized as the next in line to the Georgianian throne, people, for the most part respected his space and left him alone. Often, he went unrecognized as he went about his day in the Parisian streets for most people couldn’t believe that a royal would walk amongst them, would buy take away at the local Indian restaurant, would wait for the Metro.

It didn’t take long for Eric to settle into his new life. It wasn’t very exciting but he was happy. He would jog each morning, happily chatting with Ransom and Holster. He’d water his plants, take leisurely strolls through the tiny shops in his neighborhood, he’d drink tea and watch _The Great British Bake Off_ , he’d make dinner for all three of them, and bake all the time. (Ransom and Holster lived in the apartment next door to Eric’s, which made the King very nervous. “What good are bodyguards if they are not with you, to guard your body?” But Eric had been determined to live as much of a normal life as he could while he was in Paris.)

His most favorite thing, however, was his time spent working. He traveled frequently for work, but it was different this time around. Eric was working with what he believed to be true purpose. His royal initiatives were taking off, and he felt that was starting to make a difference—but there was still so much to be done. One morning, not too long ago, he was on the phone with his father reporting on an agricultural project that had been stuck in red tape for years and now Eric had finally gotten the ball rolling.

“Well the CAP hadn’t really been receiving the attention it deserves, father,” Eric said as he spoke with the King. “The EU farmers just want to make a reasonable living. Is that so… unreasonable?”

Eric sat at his desk and looked through his calendar, trying to plan out his week.

“Hello? You still there?” Eric asked after the line had been silent for too long.

“No, it’s just…”

Eric frowned. His father’s silences still made him uncomfortable.

“What? What is it?” he finally asked.

“You're doing great there, son. You're a good leader. You've got all of us behind you. I just thought you should know.”

Eric gripped his phone tightly and smiled. “Thank you, father.”

At night, however, when the quiet of Eric’s apartment seemed to overtake him, was when he found himself thinking of Jack. 

Jack. Jack Zimmermann.

Eric had tried not to look up Jack after that fateful day in Rome. He felt it would have been too creepy or intrusive somehow, but in the end he couldn’t help himself. He had spent one night reading all of Jack’s work on the AP website. 

It seemed as though Jack didn’t have a social media presence apart from a barely active Twitter account, which appeared to only serve work purposes—mainly retweets of articles by colleagues. His profile photo was clearly a work portrait. How serious he looked. No smile, his intense gaze faced the camera straight on. A wisp of hair fell over his forehead. Such a different man from the joking, relaxed Jack of that day.

Eric would grip his pillow at night and sigh, wondering if Jack thought of him at all. Even just a little. Did he remember the kisses they exchanged? The way their bodies pressed hotly against one another. The way they had opened up—as much as they could, each one with something to hide. He had said he was falling in love with Eric. That had to have meant something, right? In fact, it meant everything. Eric would fretfully fall asleep thinking to himself, if only… if only… if only.

**+**

“I think we have time before my meeting with _Médecins Sans Frontières_. You two want some coffee?” Eric called out behind him.

Ransom nodded and Holster gave him a thumbs up. 

“‘Chyeah, I could use some, Your Highness,” Ransom said.

It was a morning full of meetings for Eric, this was his life now. It was his second go-around in Paris. The first sixth months there had flown by, and the next six at home, equally so. Still, he was thrilled to be back in Paris. He had to plan an upcoming trip to Rome to talk with the head of an environmental not-for-profit that was very interested in pairing up with Eric’s foundation. 

The thought of being back in Rome filled him with all sorts of emotions: anxiety, nostalgia, longing. Yes, the longing was still there, even after all this time. He was worried when he noticed that Jack’s work no longer appeared on AP’s website and he thought that maybe he would have found work elsewhere with another paper. Even though they never spoke, it was comforting for Eric to know where Jack was. But now… now Eric had other things that demanded his attention, and ugh, he knew he had to stay on task. 

The three spoke easily as they made their way down the relatively open Parisian streets until they ducked into a tiny coffee shop that Holster was fond of because their chocolate croissants were “‘swawesome.” It was more crowded than usual, and while crowds didn’t normally bother Eric, this time it felt like too much. As Ransom waited in line, Eric sidled up next to him. 

“I’m going to wait outside,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Holster said as he nodded at Eric. “Get me the usual,” he said to Ransom with a wink.

Holster stood quietly and surveyed the area and Eric walked over the window of the bookstore next door. The new releases lined the display, and Eric glanced at them. That's when he saw it, sitting there in the window on top of a stack. 

He paused and felt his eyes grow big as a smile sprung onto his face.

“Oh my…” he whispered to himself.

“ _Stories My Father Told Me_ is a really great title, Jack. It’s very Obama-esque. I’m glad you ended up using that one,” Jack’s editor, Giulia, said as poured him a glass of champagne and held Jack’s book in her lap.

“I’m just glad it’s done,” he said smiling. 

“Well, congratulations! People love it,” she said.

He took a small sip. “Thank you, Giulia.”

He left the offices of Adelphi Edizoni and began to make his way back to his apartment. Jack shook his head, at no one in particular, but just marveled to himself how his life had changed over the last year and a half. His first book, a collection of essays and interviews about fathers, had been published, he’d been interviewed and gone on a small book tour of Europe. Jack felt as though he was in a good place. 

He let himself be happy, for once, really happy and enjoyed the direction his life had taken. His relationship with his father had never been better, he had just been best man at Shitty and Lardo’s wedding (yes, she was now called Lardo), and he felt he was finally getting over Eric.

Of course, he knew the last part wasn’t true. It was a bold faced lie. He saw all the work Eric had been doing over the last year and felt his heart clench every time he saw him on television, or on a magazine cover. His mind knew it was pointless to pine over someone you could never have a future with, someone who probably didn’t even think about you anymore. He had felt silly dedicating the book to Eric, but couldn’t help it even if Eric never read the book. Jack knew his declaration of love was now out in the world for everyone to see, even if they had no idea who Bitty was. He had to do it

 _To Bitty who taught me how to be brave, and who I will always remember and forever love_ it had read. His love hadn’t diminished in the slightest but there was nothing to be done about it.

The morning of his bookstore appearance, as Jack settled into his desk with a cup of coffee and a plate of amaretti, he opened his laptop and logged onto his email. 

There was a message from an email he didn’t recognize. The subject read _You have absorb'd me_. Jack paused when he recognized the phrase from a Keats letter to Fanny Brawne. He wrinkled his brow in confusion and was ready to dismiss the message as spam until he really paid attention to the email account name. 

Jack’s heart began to race. 

Could it… could it actually be?

_bitty1995@zmail.com_

Jack jumped out of his seat. He paced around his room, wondering what it could possibly mean. Just a friendly hello? A quick hi from one friend to another? Could he even dare to put himself in the position of being excited at a chance for something? Anything?

He sat down again and closed his eyes as he counted from one to ten. Once his breathing was under control, he clicked open the email, and read it.

A huge smile burst across Jack’s face.

**_THE END_ **

**Author's Note:**

> All OMGCP characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu. 
> 
> Thank you to [Devereauxs_Disease ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease) for being a great beta and all-around cheerleader. And also thanks to [RabbitRunnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah) for giving it a read through in its early stages.
> 
> The [Keats-Shelley House ](http://www.keats-shelley-house.org/).
> 
> Erik Satie’s [Gnossiennes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTi9czvLa-4). One of my most favorite pieces of music.
> 
> The [Antico Caffè Greco](https://anamericaninrome.com/wp/2017/08/antico-caffe-greco-romes-oldest-coffee-bar/) in Rome.
> 
> Here is my OMGCP Big Bang piece from [last year](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606067/chapters/38921015) if you’re interested in checking it out. Featuring artwork by Red Pork Pad Thai.
> 
> Come and say hi on [Tumblr ](https://wrathofthestag.tumblr.com/).


End file.
